
Class I j 

Book.. : ? '"<"?,. 

Copyright!" 



COPYRIGHT DEPOS1E 




A GROUP op. 
IE AT- AMERICAN • ORATORS 



,jj m i n i ii i n ■ ■i n iiii urn 

The Standard American 
Speaker ™« Entertainer 



61 f 

RECITATIONS, READINGS, FLAYS, DRILLS, TABLEAUX, Etc., Etc. 

Together with 

Rules for Physical Culture and for the Training of the Voice and the 
Use of Gesture, according to the Delsarte System 

— by— y' 

FRANCES PUTNAM FOGLE, B.E., 

Cumnock School of Oratory, Northwestern University, Evanston, 111. 



ALSO 

New and Original Musical Compositions for Special Entertainments, etc., 
with many Old Favorites Compiled and written 



GEORGE M. VICKERS, A.M., 

Author of "Guard the Flag," "Ballads of the Occident." Et< 



A Complete Hand-Book of Entertainment for 
All Ages and Occasions 



ILLUSTRATED WITH 

Attitudes, Special Poses, etc., of some of the World's most Noted 
\ Impersonators, Elocutionists and Actors. 



UNION BOOK AND BIBLE HOUSE 

PHILADELPHIA, PA. 



52424 



|l_!Or*wy of Oon«f 

SEP 27 1900 
SECOND COPY. 

Delivered to 

ORDER DIVISION, 
OCT 17 1900 



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Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1900, by 

W. E. SCUUU 
in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



ALL RIGHTS ]:ESK.K^7'ilI>. 



J 



INTRODUCTION 



IN presenting this work to the public, the publishers beg to state that it has been 
prepared expressly to meet a practical need. There are many speaker books, yet 

there seems to be an almost universal demand for a volume combining appropriate 
selections for declamation, recitation, reading, dialogues, tableaux, plays, musical num- 
bers, etc., which shall be suitable alike for the home, school, church, temperance, 
patriotic, social and all ordinary entertainments. 

There is hardly a community where such entertainments are not of frequent occur- 
rence, and, we might say in nine- tenths of them, the chief difficulty is to find persons 
with ability or training to take part. A second difficulty also arises in making up a pro- 
gramme of suitable selections. This volume will be found a help in overcoming both 
these obstacles. It furnishes for the teacher and the individual a method of simple 
training which enables them to train others or prepare themselves to speak easily and 
gracefully ; and at the same time places the material at their hands from which to 
make suitable selections. 

Miss Frances Putnam Pogle, B.E., of the Cumnock School of Oratory, of Chicago, 
who prepares the departments of "PHYSICAL DEVELOPMENT" AND " DEL- 
SARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION," is one of the most successful teachers of 
these specialties. She has devoted years to the study, practice and teaching of 

elocution as an art. She begins by training the body to make itself a willing, grace- 
ful and obedient servant to the will and the emotions of the speaker. Next she 
trains the mind to abandon itself to the spirit of the selection in hand, forgetful of 
self and surroundings, the speaker becoming for the time the real character or soul 
of the lines rendered. 

The Delsartean method has been thoroughly mastered by Miss Pogle. Her 
instructor was trained by the famous Delsarte himself. Elocutionists and orators 
everywhere declare it is the only system by which to discover and develop those 
true powers of eloquence which, Webster declares, " Labor and learning may toil for 
in vain. Words and phrases cannot compass it. It must exist in the man, in the 
subject and in the occasion," and come from the speaker as naturally as "the 
breaking out of a fountain from the earth." Miss Pogle 's method of teaching this 
subject is remarkable for its simplicity. The common-school child can follow her 



INTRODUCTION 

easy conversational description and instruction. It is written in the author's simple 
and familiar manner of teaching individuals by correspondence. Possessors of this 
book will feel as if they were her personal pupils — as they really will be — following 
the instructions of a letter written personally to themselves. 

This series of lessons will be found of incalculable value to those who have 
not had a course at a school of elocution and physical culture. Even reading the 
pages over in a casual way will be found interesting and beneficial, while a short 
period each day devoted to study and practice will make any ambitious young 
man or woman more than a fair elocutionist, besides repaying the student with 
general benefit both mentally and physically. 

Mr. George M. Vickers needs no introduction to the American people. Every 
child in the public schools sings his famous song, "Guard the Flag," and there are 
few elocutionists of note who do not number in their repertoire one or more of this 
author's poetic productions, for they are to be found in many of the best books of 
selections. His "Poems of the Occident." which recently appeared, has many new 
numbers, never before published, and the best of those for recitation are to be found 
in this volume. The special Musical Department in the work is also prepared by 
Mr. Vickers, and contains several of his newest and most popular songs. "Columbia, 
My Country," is of national reputation, the author having received special testimonials 
from President McKinley, the governors of many states, and others high in the public 
service, voicing their appreciation of the patriotic sentiment expressed in both words 
and music. " The New ' Dixie,' " also found in this volume, is a grand musical tribute 
to the South, breathing a patriotic spirit of reconciliation from a Northern soldier to those 
who wore the gray. The music, while new, has the same dashing time of the famous old 
"Dixie Land," and the words may be sung to that thrilling Southern air when so 
desired. " The Public School," a new and rousing school song, with a grand chorus, is 
fast finding its way into all the schools of the land. "The Little Foresters," a 
musical sketch for Arbor Day entertainment, and " The Musical Asters," a flower song 
with special settings, are both designed for several singers, and, with others, were 
prepared exclusively for this volume, and cannot be found elsewhere. 

The general selections for the book are divided into departments, those relating 
to "PATRIOTISM AND WAR," leading, in deference to the prominence of these 
two subjects at present, as well as to the duty of patriotism upon every citizen and 
our obligation to teach it to the young. The remaining departments, " NARRA- 
TIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE," " HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC," "RELIGIOUS, 
MORAL AND DIDACTIC," "PATHETIC," "TEMPERANCE READINGS," etc., 
embrace the best selections and cuttings to be obtained from a wide field of research 
in both ancient and modern literature. The classifying of all the selections under 
their proper headings renders the work of choosing suitable pieces of any character 
easy. 

Attention is particularly called to the department of " ENCORE SELECTIONS/'' 
so much sought after by popular reciters ; also to "THE LITTLE FOLKS' SPEAKER," 
a department of the work devoted entirely to bright speeches for children— enabling 
mamma to find something pretty for the child to speak in a few moments. 



INTRODUCTION 

"HAPPY QUOTATIONS is another department which, with the suggestions as 
to the manner of using them, will also be found both helpful and entertaining to old 
and young. 

"DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS" are also grouped together in a 
department devoted exclusively to that class of selections ; and, the SHAKESPEAREAN 
DEPARTMENT," in which representative cuttings from the great plays of the 
world's greatest playwright are presented, will prove of special value to those who aspire 
to the higher levels of the dramatic art. 

Thus it will be seen that the work, while most comprehensive, including altogether 
more than 1,000 selections, suited alike to all ages and to all occasions, is so classified 
and arranged as to make it of the greatest possible convenience and availability in 
the practical using. 

We trust that the labor expended upon it, and the efficient and original manner 
in which it has been executed and arranged for the practical use of the masses may 
be rewarded by the cordial reception which this new and originally planned work 
deserves at the hands of the public. 

Respectfully. 

THE PUBLISHERS. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



PiiR/r I 



PHYSICAL DEVELOPMENT 



Preface 

Military Position 

Relaxing Exercises for the Hand 
' ' Foot 



" Head 

" Whole Arm 

" Whole Leg 

Trunk and Arms 

the Whole Body 



27 Exercises for Strengthening the Arms . 31 

29 " " " " Legs . 32 

29 ' ' for Making the Feet Strong and 

29 Pliable 33 

29 "to Strengthen the Hands ... 33 

30 ' ' for Strengthening the Back . . 33 
30 " " Putting the Shoulders in 

30 Their Proper Place ... 34 

31 " to Strengthen the Body as a 

Whole . 35 



Part II 

DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION 



Sketch of Delsarte . , 37 

The Correct Position for Reciting ... 39 

Walking 39 

Exercises for Poise and to Properly 

Place the Weight 40 

Exercise to Acquire a Narrow Base . . 41 
Exercise to Avoid Bending the Front 

Knee 41 

Pivoting Exercises 41 

Exercises to Give Lightness to Body . 42 
Exercise to Add Dignity to Walk, or 

"Stage Walk" 42 

Exercise for Bo-wing. Front, Street 

Bow and Stage Bow 42 

Exercise in Walking Backwards ... 43 

How to Pick up Anything 43 

How to Sit 44 

How to Rise 44 

How to Go Up and Down Stairs ... 45 

Gesture 45 

Delsarte 's Laws of Gesture 46 

Exercise for Harmonic Poise of Arms 

and Hands 47 

Breathing 48 

Breathing Exercises 48 

Focusing the Tone 49 



Exercise for Focusing Tone 50 

Loudness 50 

Distinctness 51 

Difficult Sentences 51 

Words in Which Long U is often Mis- 
pronounced 53 

Words in which Short Italian A is often 

Mispronounced 53 

Flexibility of the Voice 54 

Slowness 55 

Different Styles of Reading 56 

I. Styles of Reading in the Natural 

Voice 56 

a. Pathos 56 

b. Solemnity 57 

Serenity, Beauty and Love . 57 

Common Reading 57 

Gayety 59 

Humor 59 

II. Styles of Reading in the Oro- 
tund Voice 61 

a. Effusive Orotund 61 

b. Expulsive Orotund .... 62 
Explosive Orotund 63 

.64 



c. 
d. 
e. 

/■ 



c. 



Remarks by the Editor 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 
Part III 

PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



America 66 

America, an Aggregate of Nations . . 81 
American Union, a Geographical Neces- 
sity, The 81 

Admiral Susan Jane 1 30 

American Flag, The 131 

Battle Hymn of the Republic, The . . 83 

Black Regiment, The 91 

Boer Swan Song, The 91 

Boer National Hymn 91 

Baby and the Soldiers, The 99 

Blue and the Gray, The 104 

Battle of Manila Bay no 

Bound in Honor to Grant Philippine 

Independence 117 

Bernardo Del Carpo 124 

Boer Prayers at British Graves . . . .130 
Columbia, the Land of the Brave ... 72 

Camp Calls 92 

Charge of the Light Brigade 98 

Custer's Last Charge 108 

Devotion to Patriotic Duty 65 

11 Dixie " up-to-date 90 

Dirge of the Drums ......... 93 

' ' Do not Cheer " 112 

Dixie Doodle 114 

Dying Captain, The. 119 

Decoration Day 134 

Fourth of July, The 94 

Fitzhugh Lee . 109 

Freedom's Flag 135 

German's Fatherland, The 87 

German Battle Prayer 87 

God Save the King 88 

God Save the Queen . . • 88 

Gustavus Vasa to the Dalecarlians . . 99 

Greater Republic, The ., 114 

General Robert E. Lee 128 

Heroic Example has Power 71 

Hail, Columbia, Happy Land 72 

Hero of the Commune, The 95 

Hero Down Below, The 113 

Home Voyage, The 127 

International Sympathies on the Increase 7 1 

Incident of the French Camp 96 

Incident of the War, An 102 

I Want to Go Home 129 

Love of Country, The 65 

Liberty and Union , One and Inseparal >!e 83 



Lincoln's Address at Gettysburg . . .101 

Land of our Forefathers, The 120 

Legend of the Declaration , A 128 

Marseilles Hymn 84 

Marching to Cuba 89 

" Maine," Red, White and Blue, The . 89 

Mother's Lament, A 93 

Men Always Fit for Freedom 95 

Marco Bozzaris 97 

"Merrimac," The. . 112 

Man who Does the Cheerin', The . . .122 

Mother and Poet 133 

Massachusetts 136 

Napoleon's Farewell to his Army at 

Fontainebleau, 1814 96 

New Rosette, The 107 

New "Alabama," The 112 

No Dishonor to Haul Down the Flag .118 

On Taxing America 72 

Our Heroes 90 

Objection to the Mexican War .... 99 

On the Force Bill 100 

Patriotism Assures Public Faith ... 66 
Patriotism Inculcates Public Virtue . . 67 
Patriotism Broad as Humanity .... 68 

Plea for Universal Peace, A 78 

Parody on "Auld Lang Syne," A . . . 92 
Peaceable Secession Impossible . . . .101 
Prophetic Toast to Commodore Dewey no 

Picture of War 123 

"Private Jones" 129 

Queen of Prussia's Ride," The .... 97 

" Recessional," The • 88 

Reign of Peace Foreshadowed, The . . 77 
Resistance to British Aggression ... 73 

Revolutionary Sermon, A 74 

Republic, the Strongest Government, A 78 

Reveille 93 

Rifleman's Fancy Shot, The ...... 101 

Rienzi to the Roman Conspirators in 

1347 J 3 2 

Roman Sentinel, The 125 

Saul Before his Last Battle 94 

Spirit of the Age Adverse to War, The 76 

Spanish Patriot's Song, The 84 

Sheridan's Ride 103 

Song of our Fleets 123 

Soldier's Offering, A 130 

Star-Spangled Banner, The 76 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



PAGE 

True Patriotism is Unselfish 66 

They'll Never Get Home in 

To the Flying Squadron 122 

Union Linked with Liberty 82 

Valley Forge 121 

War Inevitable, March, 1775, The . . 74 

Washington to His Soldiers 94 

Wrap the Flag Around Me, Boys . . .104 



PAGE 

War Ship " Dixie," The in 

Wheeler at Santiago 113 

War the Game of Tyrants 120 

Washington's Birthday 127 

" We'll Fling the Starry Banner Out "128 
Who Will Care for Mother, Now? . .129 
Yankee Dewey 9° 



F^RT IV 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 



After the Battle . 150 

Aunt Polly Green 167 

Burning Ship, The 144 

Bells, The . . . 158 

Bill Mason's Ride 164 

Curfew Must Not Ring To-night . . .143 

Changing Color 170 

Diamond Wedding, The ...... 145 

Death of Fagin 148 

Death of the Old Squire, The . . . .160 

Daniel Periton's Ride 165 

Fairy Tale, A 150 

Fireman, The 159 

Fire-Fiend, The 169 



Glacier Bed, The 154 

Gladiator, The 162 

Little Breeches 165 

Little Meg and I 171 

Married for Love 147 

Pompeii 168 

Raven, The 137 

Rodney's Ride 157 

Skeleton in Armor, The 139 

Song of the Shirt, The 146 

Sioux Chief's Daughter, The 163 

Tom 149 

TrystingWell , 155 



Part V 



PATHETIC READINGS 



Aged Prisoner, The [ 173 

Bridge, The 192 

Chapter From the Annals of the Poor, A 1 73 

Death of Little Nell 174 

Dying Boy, The , . 183 

Dying Alchemist, The 191 

Good-Night, Papa 175 

Gambler's Wife, The 186 

In the Bottom Drawer 179 

Limpy Tim . . 182 



Nobody's Child 190 

Our Folks 180 

Old Man's Vigil, The 181 

On the Other Train 185 

Old Spinster, The 189 

Poor Little Jim 176 

Poor Little Joe 179 

Progress of Madness, The 184 

Singer's Climax, The 183 

To Mary in Heaven 182 



Part VI 

HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



Admiral Von Diederichs 216 

An Apostrophe to Aguinaldo . . . .216 

Baby in Church 194 

Buck Fanshaw's Funeral 207 



Baby's First Tooth, The 220 

Bell- Wether and the Deacon, The . .225 

Baby's Soliloquy 227 

Bill Nye on Hornets 232 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Case of Gunn vs. Barclay 204 

Casey at the Bat 205 

Comet, The 212 

Counting Eggs 220 

Christopher Columbus 229 

De Campane of Nineteen-Hundred . .195 

Der Drummer 206 

Dying Confession of Paddy McCabe, The 210 

Drummer, The 217 

Elder Lamb's Donation 241 

Experience with a Refractory Cow . . 242 
Girl's Conversation Over the Tele- 
phone, A 230 

" Helen's Babies " on Noah's Ark . . 198 

How "Ruby "Played 200 

Hans and Fritz 209 

Interviewer, The 236 

Kentucky Philosophy 199 

Leedle Yawcob Strauss 209 

Man and the Mosquito 196 

Mollie's Little Ram 211 

Manifest Destiny 211 

Mark Antony's Original Oration . . .219 
Mark Twain Introduces Himself . . . 232 
Most Obliging Little Sister, A . . . .226 



PAGE 

Miss January June's Lecture on Wom- 
an's Rights 229 

Miss Malony on the Chinese Question . 238 
Mrs. Caudle Has Taken Cold . . . .240 

Owl-Critic, The .203 

01' Pickett's Nell 215 

Paddy's Reflections on Cleopatra's 

Needle 206 

Photogragh Album, The 234 

Reverie in Church 197 

Requiem on the Ahkoond of Swat . . 244 

Serenade to Spring, A 221 

Sermon for the Sisters 231 

School Girl's Declaration of Independ- 
ence, A 242 

Then Ag'in 218 

Theology in the Quarters 222 

Terry O'Milligan, the Irish Philosopher 233 

Widdy O'Shane's Rint, The 193 

Was It Job That Had Warts on Him ? . 194 

When We Get There 202 

" When Huldy 'Spects Her Beau " . .205 

What the Little Girl Said 222 

Yankee in Love, A . . 228 

Zeb White's Unlucky Argument . . .234 



Part VII 



RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC 



Apostrophe to the Mountains, An . . .256 

Advice to Young Men 262 

Apostrophe to Niagara 265 

Advice to a Young Man 267 

After Twenty Years 269 

Brotherhood of Man, The 247 

Books of the Old Testament, The . . . 251 

Building and Being 251 

Brought in Pa's Prayers 252 

Bravest of Battles, The 263 

Clipping the Bible 246 

Christian Martyr, The 247 

Cynic, The 262 

Crucifixion, The 246 

Don't Be in a Hurry 264 

Don't Fret 272 

Funeral, The 265 

Forgiveness 267 

"God is Calling Me" 246 

Glories of the Life Beyond, The J . . .251 

Good Old Mothers 265 

Good Nature 271 



How Prayer Was Answered 253 

How the Organ Was Paid For .... 255 

Influence of Small Things 264 

Last Hymn, The 263 

Life is What We Make It 271 

My Creed, 245 

New Ten Commandments, A 248 

No Religion Without Mysteries .... 253 

No Sects in Heaven 257 

Oh, Why Should the Spirit of Mortal 

Be Proud ? 248 

One Touch of Nature . 257 

Papa's Letter 261 

Pegging Away 270 

Rizpah . . ". 254 

Shall We Know Each Other There . . 255 

Stick to Your Bush 269 

Tact and Talent 268 

Universal Prayer, The 245 

Wanted— A Minister's Wife 266 

We are not Always Glad When We 

Smile 270 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



Faro- VIII 

TEMPERANCE READINGS 



Appeal for Temperance 276 

Brave Boy, A 280 

Cost of the First Drink ....... 274 

Drunkard's Daughter, The 282 

Face on the Floor, The 274 

Men Behind the Vote, The 276 



New Declaration of Independence, A . 277 

Power of Habit, The 277 

Pledge With Wine 283 

Two Glasses, The 281 

Water and Rum 273 

What is a Minority 279 



Part IX 

LITTLE FOLK'S SPEAKER 



Among the Animals 292 

Address to a Teacher, An 299 

Army Diet 309 

Baby, The 287 

Boy's Mother, A 288 

Blue and the Gray, The 294 

Best of Menageries 299 

Bluebell's Reward, The 301 

Boy Who Didn't Pass, The 301 

Boy's Lecture on "Knives," A . . . 302 

Boys Wanted 303 

Baby's Logic 303 

Blessed Ones, The 305 

Christmas Has Come 292 

Children's Day 297 

Closing Address 299 

Doll Rosy's Bath 290 

Dialogue for Two Boys 294 

Days of the Week 304 

Easter Bonnet, An 307 

First Pair of Breeches, The 298 

Fourth of July Record, A 304 

Fairy People's Spinning, The . . . .311 

Grandmother's Chair 288 

Good Country, A 289 

George Washington 303 

Grandpa's Aversion to Slang . . . .312 
How the Sermon Sounded to Baby . . 287 

Her Papa 309 

If I Were You 305 

Johnny's Opinion of Grandmothers . .310 

Katie's Wants 289 

Lament of a Little Girl 288 

Little Girl's Speech About Herself, A . 288 
Lulu's Complaint 291 



Little Tommie's First Smoke . . . .291 

Little Boy's Wonder, A . 291 

Little Kitty 292 

Little Boy's Lecture, A 294 

Meaning of the American Flag, The .289 

Mary and the Swallow 292 

Missionary Hen, The 307 

New Baby, The 290 

Only Child, The 290 

Opening Address, An 298 

Price He Paid, The 310 

Queer Little House, The 301 

Questions About Women 307 

Remember, Boys Make Men 306 

Rough Rider at Home, A 308 

School Girl's Presentation Speech . . 297 

School Idyl, A 304 

Song of the Rye 308 

Spanish War Alphabet 309 

That's Baby 290 

They Say 293 

Time Enough 293 

Twenty-third Psalm 305 

Tale of a Dog and a Bee 306 

True Bravery 311 

Valedictory 299 

Vacation Time 300 

Why I'd Rather be a Boy 288 

Why Betty Didn't Laugh 289 

Words of Welcome 298 

When Mamma was a Little Girl . . . 298 

Watermillion 298 

What a Boy Can Do . . 303 

What to Drink 305 

When Father Carves the Duck .... 306 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



Part X 



ENCORES 



Avast, There George 314 

Aunt Jemima's Courtship 315 

Ain't He Cute 320 

Bonaparte to the Boer 317 

Dad's Swore Off 321 

Did You Ever See ? 320 

Farewell, Old Shoe 322 

From Sublime to Ridiculous 321 

Grandpapa's Spectacle's 322 

He Came 316 

Indian Mixed Oratory 314 

Just My Luck 313 

Little Orphant Roberts 317 



Lost Penny, The '. . 319 

Mother's Advice, A ........ 314 

Mrs. Lofty and I 315 

Maiden's Ideal of a Husband, A . . . 320 

Marchin' Wid De Ban' 321 

New " Lest We Forget," The .... 317 

Old Cane Pole, The 319 

Only a Baby's Hand ........ 318 

Poor Indian, The 313 

Trouble Borrowers 319 

Total Annihilation .... .... 320 

Unfinished Still 315 

Village Choir, The 316 



Part XI 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



Creed of the Bells, The 325 

Caesar's Message to Cato 344 

Courtship Under Difficulties 350 

Christmas Eve (A Pantomime) . . . .358 

Castles in the Air 359 

Dream of Fair Women , A 345 

Failed 327 

Farmer's Kitchen Before Thanksgiving 358 

Gustavus Vasa, From 341 

Goin' Somewhere 352 

Gipsy Camp (Tableau) 357 

Home Scene in the Chaplain's Family, A323 
Hallowed by Thy Name (Tableau) . .358 
Lochiel's Warning 343 



Love in the Kitchen ........ 356 

Mary Stuart, Queen of Scotland . . . 336 

Polish Boy, The \ . 326 

Pageant of the Months 329 

Pat's Excuse 335 

Peasant Boy, From the 339 

Resolve of Regulus, The 328 

Signing the Pledge (Tableau) ... .358 
Sam Weller's Valentine (Tableau) . . 358 

Scripture Tableau 358 

Scripture Scene (Tableau) 358 

Two Flower (Flour) Girls (Tableau) . 358 

Uncle Pete 334 

Woman's Rights (Tableau) 357 



Part XII 

SHAKESPEAREAN DEPARTMENT 



Antony and Ventidius — From Antony 

and Cleopatra 372 

Coriolanus and Aufidius 374 

Lost Reputation — From Othello . . . 365 
Mark Antony to the People on Caesar's 
Death 369 



Othello's Apology — From Othello . . .362 
Quarrel of Brutus and Cassius — From 

Julius Ccssar 370 

Seven Ages of Man 376 

Trial Scene — From Merchant of Venice . 366 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



Part XIII 

MUSICAL DEPARTMENT 



America — " My Country, 'tis of Thee " 399 

Christmas Song, A 382 

Columbia ! the Gem of the Ocean . .383 

Columbia, My Country 385 

Little Foresters, The 377 

Musical Asters, The 387 

New Dixie, The 400 



Old-Fashioned Flowers 379 

Old Oaken Bucket, The 392 

Our Army and Navy • . . 394 

Public School, The 402 

Star-Spangled Banner 389 

Stars and Stripes Forever, The .... 390 
Yankee Doodle 396 



Part XIV 



HELPFUL QUOTATIONS 



Addison, Joseph 406 

Bacon, Lord 405 

Burns, Robert 408 

Bonaparte, Napoleon 408 

Byron, Lord 409 

Bryant, William Cullen 409 

Beecher, Henry Ward 412 

Browning, Elizabeth Barrett 413 

•Burnett, Frances Hodgson 414 

Confucius 404 

Cicero 404 

Cervantes 405 

Cowper, William 408 

Campbell, Thomas 409 

Carlyle, Thomas 410 

Cross, Mrs. Marian Lewes 413 

Childs, Lydia Maria 413 

Cook, Eliza 413 

Cary, Alice 413 

Cary, Phoebe 413 

Dante 405 

Dodge, Mary Abigail 414 

Emerson, Ralph Waldo 410 

Fuller, Thomas 407 

Franklin, Benjamin 407 

Goldsmith, Oliver 408 

Gladstone, William Ewart 412 

Gough, John B 412 

Hood, Thomas 410 

Hugo, Victor 410 

Holmes, Oliver Wendell 411 

Hule, Sarah Jane 413 



Johnson, Ben 406 

Johnson. Dr. Samuel 407 

Jefferson, Thomas 408 

Jackson, Andrew 408 

Keats, John 409 

Longfellow, Henry W 410 

Lincoln, Abraham 412 

Lowell, James Russell 412 

Lippincott, Sara J 414 

Mohammed 404 

Milton, 407 

Montgomery, James . 409 

Mann, Horace 410 

Plutarch 405 

Penn, William 406 

Pope, Alexander 407 

Payne, John Howard 410 

Raleigh, Sir Walter 405 

Solon 404 

Shakespeare 405 

Scott, Sir Walter 409 

Sigourney, Lydia H 413 

Sangster, Margaret E 414 

Tennyson, Alfred 411 

Voltaire 407 

Washington, George 408 

Webster, Daniel 408 

Wellington, Duke of 409 

Wordsworth, William 409 

Whittier, John G 411 

Wilcox, Ella Wheeler 414 



Part XV 

MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



Apostrophe to John Chinaman 
Arsenal at Springfield, The . 
Bijah's Story 



419 
428 
427 



Brutus over the Body of Lucretia . 
Cicero and Demosthenes Compared 
Casabianca 



• 43o 

• 430 

• 446 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Decorating the Graves of our Heroic Dead 4 1 5 

Decoration Day 416 

Dolly's Birthday 423 

Difficulty of Rhyming, The 441 

In Marget's Garden 421 

Ichabod 445 

Kiss in the Tunnel, The 434 

Keeping House for Two 441 

King Wheat 442 

Last Leaf, The 429 

Lightkeeper's Daughter, The 440 

Man Without the Hoe, The 423 

Memorial Day 416 

Mosaics 443 

Nell 438 

Ode to Embonpoint 420 



PAGE 

Our Sermon Taster 425 

Our Banner 428 

Only the Clothes She Wore 43 1 

Old Glory 444 

President Kruger's Address at the 
Funeral of General Joubert .... 424 

Parody on Casabianca, A 446 

Salvation and Morality 427 

Schooling a Husband 432 

Supposed Speech of Regulus 437 

Toussaint L'Ouverture .417 

Two Gentlemen of Kentucky . . . .418 

" Them Yankee Blankits " 433 

Twilight Story 442 

Ugly Sam 435 

Will New Year Come To-night ? . . . 436 



Part XVI 

PROGRAMMES 



1 . A Fourth of July Entertainment 448 

2. Washington's Birthday Entertainment 449 

3. School Entertainment or Exhibition 450 

4. Christmas Entertainment 451 

5. A Parlor Entertainment 452 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS, PORTRAITS, TABLEAUX, 

ACTING SCENES, ETC. 



PAGE 



Adoration . . 354 

Bullet Through the Arm, A 79 

Courage of Faith, The 69 

Clara Liptnan and Louis Mann 213 

Charlie Davidson, the Noted Boy Soprano 223 

Child of the North Star 295 

Drawing for the Fray 80 

Forbidden Correspondence Found 79 

Faith in the Red, White and Blue 286 

Fannie Davenport in Cleopatra 364 

Great American Orators Frontispiece 

Group from " Kl Capitan," A 141 

Group from " Shenandoah," A . , 353 

Hacket as Prince Rupert 285 

Henry Miller and Mayant Anglin 250 

" I've a Mind to Call Him Back" 188 

''I'm a Little Flower Girl" 286 

Jessie Miller, the Fair Young Cornetist 223 

Luxury Without Love 178 

Little Lord Fauntleroy 295 

" Madam, I'm at your Service " 116 

Meeting of Leander and Hero, The 151 

Maud Adams and Robert Bdeson 250 

Marie Burroughs 285 

Mercutio, the Friend of Romeo 363 

Nathan Hale and his Pupil 106 

Nat Goodwin 106 

Never to Meet Again 260 

Old Love Letters 105 

"Once There Was a Little Kitty" 152 

Pleasing Pose, A 178 

Queen Louise and her Sons 115 

Quite Absorbed 177 

Ready to Fight 354 

Richard Mansfield in " Beau Brummel " 364 

Soldier's Proposal, The 70 

Sacrifice of Iphigenia' The «... 259 

Strictly Confidential 296 

Songs of Long Ago , 224 

Telephone Girl, The 80 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



PAGE 



1 ' This dagger shall avenge me " 116 

Too Many For Him 214 

Vicar and Olivia, The 187 

Virgin and the Child, The 249 

Watching the Charge 69 

" When we Went a Maying " 142 

Wilson and Broderick . . 213 

William Gillette and Katherine Florence 353 



SPECIAL POSES 

ILLUSTRATING ATTITUDES, GESTURES, ETC., APPEARING IN PART H. 
DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION 

Anxious- Solicitous 60 

Anger 54 

Beckoning — Summoning 63 

Courtesy, The 51 

Command, "Stop!" . . . . .' 57 

Command, " Go !" 57 

Coquetry 51 

Exhaustion 59 

Fear 56 

Flight 50 

Grief or Hearing Bad News 58 

Hatred or Aversion 53 

Horror 55 

Joy or Gladness 49 

Longing — Pleading , 62 

Meditation , ... 61 

Mirth 52 

Mimicry 64 

Physical Pain 59 

Ridicule 52 

Revenge 53 

Rejection 56 

Secrecy 56 

Scorn — Independence 58 

Salutation 63 

Sauciness 64 

Silence 62 

Supplication „ 54 

Uncertainty 60 

Vanity 61 

Watching 49 

Welcome — Delight 5° 



Part I 

PHYSICAL DEVELOPMENT 



By FRANCES PUTNAM POGLE 



What do we mean by " Physical 
Development ? " It is the training 
of the bodily organs and powers 
with a view to the promotion of health and 
vigor, or strength. 

Too much stress cannot be laid upon 
physical development when one begins to 
study Elocution. 

To begin with, the first requirement for 
public speaking is " physical strength." 

Because in order to become a successful 
public speaker one must be strong enough 
to withstand not only the nervous strain un- 
der which such an one is constantly labor- 
ing, but also the physical strain which of 
necessity must come to the body from long 
standing and constant activity in changing 
from one character to another during an 
evening's program. 

Besides, one cannot possibly lose himself 
in a selection unless the body is free from 
pain, and perfectly at ease. 

The least pain or awkwardness in any part 
of the body, the mind concentrates itself 
upon that one part to the exclusion of all 
else, and, instead of decreasing, the pain 
or awkwardness increases by much thinking 
on, until the infection spreads over the whole 
body and finally takes entire possession of 
the mind as well. 

The result is a failure, in which the reci- 
tation has degenerated into mere 

" Words words, words I" 

as Hamlet says. 

What was the cause of the failure ? 

One little part of the body which was not 
up to the standard ! Nothing to speak of 



— but enough to spoil the good effect of all 
the stronger parts. As a chain is only as 
strong as its weakest link, so the human 
body is only as strong, and, shall we say as 
graceful? as its weakest part. Shakespeare 
has it — 

" So, oft it chances in particular men, 
Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect, 
Their virtues else — be they as pure as grace, 
Shall in the general censure take corruption 
From that particular fault." 

The Doctor's Test. 

After looking at a rather dyspeptic patient 
a moment, an eccentric physician said very 
abruptly, " Where is your stomach ? ' ' 

"Here!" said the patient, promptly, 
though looking bewildered by the question. 

' ' How do you know ? ' ' said he. 

" Why, because that's where the pain is 
whenever I swallow anything." 

" Then my supposition was correct," de- 
clared the doctor. I thought you had dys- 
pepsia the moment I laid eyes on you, but 
thought I'd test you to make sure.' ' 

As the patient looked puzzled, he con- 
tinued : ' ' You see, a person who has a good 
stomach oughtn't to know that he has one, 
much less where it is." 

The doctor's rule for a good stomach is 
my rule for a good body. 

On getting up to recite, if you feel that 
you have a body, then there is something 
wrong With it. When your body has reached 
the state where it is not a subject of consid- 
eration to you, then and not until then, will 
you be able to do your best work. 

After all, the body is merely the veil 
through which the soul shines, or the glass 



27 



28 



PHYSICAL DEVELOPMENT 



through which the sun shines, If the veil 
is marred in any way, the attention of the 
outsider is drawn to the mar, while the soul 
which shines through is unnoticed ; or, if 
the pane is blemished, the beautiful sun- 
shine comes through but dimly, and then in 
distorted shadows. 

Is it possible ever to attain to the state 
where one is unconscious of the body ? 

Yes ; but only after long and careful 
work. In order to reach that condition you 
must pass through one of extreme and pain- 
ful self-consciousness, but it will pay in the 
end. In order to reach heaven, one must 
pass through ' ' the valley of the shadow of 
death ! ' ' Most of the things worth having 
on earth are only the result of great and 
painful effort. Ask any one who has ever 
seen it, if the view from the top of Mt. Blanc 
is not worth the struggle up its side. So do 
not be discouraged, but as Emerson says : 

' ' Hitch your wagon to a star ! ' ' 

All great orators and actors have had 
physical defects to overcome. 

Look at Demosthenes ! Who does not 
know the story of his patient and successful 
efforts to overcome his life-long habit of car- 
rying one shoulder lower than the other ? 
One of my earliest recollections is the pic- 
ture of that great orator reciting in front of 
his mirror with the sharp -edged sword placed 
so that it would cut into the flesh every time 
his shoulder should sink to its old level. 

Abraham Lincoln, with his loose-jointed 
frame and homely face, was by nature the 
embodiment of awkwardness ; but when 
roused to the pitch of eloquence the beauty 
of his soul transfigured him, until his every 
move was strength, grace and dignity ! 

And so I might go down the long line of 
famous speakers, pointing out some fault or 
faults in each, which had to be overcome be- 
fore greatness was attained. 

For the sake of illustration let us liken 
the body to a garden. What does the ex- 
pert gardener do before planting his seed ? 

He begins by pulling out or cutting down 
the weeds, which, if allowed to grow, would 
soon overrun the whole garden, choking out 
the seed which he intends to plant in the 
future. Then he plows or spades the earth 
in order to loosen it ; after which it is ready 
for the planting. 



How does he plant his seeds ? By simply 
throwing them upon the surface of the soil, 
and then paying no more attention to them ? 
No, he plants them carefully, seeing that they 
are covered with earth ; and then he tends 
them day after day, until the fruit ripens 
under his care into perfect growth and sym- 
metry, and is ready for use. 

To one who would be an effective speaker 
the mental faculties are the gardeners, the 
body is the garden ; the weeds are the faults 
of carriage and bad habits formed in years 
of thoughtlessness ; the instruments with 
which he loosens the soil are the relaxing 
exercises ; the loosened soil is the body when 
it has become free of faults ; the seeds are 
the principles for obtaining strength, ease 
and grace, without which nothing can be 
truly beautiful ; the careful planting is the 
putting in of these principles by steady 
practicing of exercises which will take root 
in the body ; the careful tending after the 
seeds have taken root, is the watchfulness of 
the mind to see that the body does not break 
the laws of nature ; and the ripened fruit is 
the body which has become so thoroughly 
developed and perfected under long and care- 
ful training that it is no longer an impedi- 
ment, but the instrument through which the 
soul works its will. 

To quote from a former figure, the blem- 
ish in the glass, the mar in the veil, are 
gone, and now we see the sublime spectacle 
of the workings of a human soul. 

Following the wise leading of the gar- 
dener, I will begin by trying to weed out 
your faults and bad habits of carriage. 

In the first place, have you any bad habits 
or peculiarities which need to be corrected ? 
Let me tell you right here that not one in a 
hundred is free from some, and, in most 
cases, many, defects of carriage. Some- 
times it is one thing, sometimes another, 
but usually the fault lies with the hands, 
feet, head, abdomen, shoulders, or the plac- 
ing of the weight. 

By watching yourself you can soon tell if 
you have any faults to overcome. When 
you enter your friend's parlor, if you feel as 
if you do not know what to do with your 
hands or feet, then the trouble lies with 
them. If any other part feels too promi- 
nent or heavy, then the trouble lies there. 



PHYSICAL DEVEL0PMEN7 



29 



To relieve stiffness and awkwardness of 
any part of the body, I should advise 
thorough practice in the following relaxing 
exercices. 

I shall frequently use the term ' ' Military 
Position." By it, I mean — 

{Military Position.) 

i . Heels together, with toes at an angle 
of forty -five degrees. 

2. Head erect. 

3. Shoulders well up. 

4. Arms close at sides, 

5 . Knees stiff. 

6. Weight on the balls of the feet. 

7. Abdomen back in place. 

8. Chest up. 

Relaxing Exercises for the Hand. 



1 . Military position. 

2. Clasp the left wrist firmly with the 
right hand, at the same time letting the left 
hand hang as if dead or relaxed. 

3 . By moving right hand and arm, shake 
left hand violently up and down, round and 
round in every direction, until it feels numb, 
or, as if all the blood in the body were in it. 
(Be sure that the right hand and arm are 
doing all the work.) 

4. Reverse the movement, making left 
hand do the work and right hand hang 
relaxed, etc. 

{Repeat ten times.) 

II. 

1. Military position. 

2. L,ean the body forward and dip the 
tips of the fingers into an imaginary basin 
of water. 

3. Shake the water off violently. 
{Repeat twenty times.) 

III. 

1 . Military position . 

2. Clench hands tightly at sides, arms 
being tense and strained. 

3. Hold strained position while count- 
ing twenty. 

4. Relax arms and hands. 
{Repeat fifteen times.) 



Relaxing Exercises eor the Foot. 



I. 



1. Military position. 

2. Right foot forward. 

3. 14ft right foot off the floor, bending 
the leg at the knee. 

4. Relax right foot. 

5. Shake right foot violently as if shak- 
ing off water. 

6. Right foot back to place. 

7. Reverse the movement, putting left 
foot forward, etc. 

{Repeat eight times.) 



II. 



1. Military position. 

2. Place hands on hips. 

3. Lift right leg, bending it at knee, and 
letting lower leg hang relaxed. 

4. By quickly raising and depressing 
upper leg, swing the relaxed lower leg 
backward and forward in a movement 
resembling the pawing of a horse. 

5. Reverse the movement. 
{Repeat five times.) 



Relaxing Exercises for the Head. 



I. 



1 . Military position . 

2 . Press the head back as far as possible 
until the muscles under the chin and at the 
back of the neck feel strained. 

3. Relax those muscles, letting the head 
hang back, relaxed. 

4. Bring the head to place. 

5 . Press the head as far as possible to 
the right until the muscles at the left and 
right sides of the neck feel strained. 

6. Relax the muscles. 

7 . Reverse this movement , pressing head 
to left, etc. 

8. Press head forward as far as possible, 
and relax. 

9. Press head straight up as far as pos- 
sible, and relax. 

{Repeat this movement all the way through 
four times.) 



3Q 



PHYSICAL DEVELOPMENT 



II. 

i. Feet in military position, hands on 
hips. 

2. Close eyes and slowly relax the head, 
letting it fall forward on the breast. 

3. Imagine life cut off at the neck, and 
the head simply attached with a string. 

4. By moving the trunk in a circular 
direction, let the head roll around of itself, 
making several circuits of the body. Be 
sure that the head does none of the work. 

Relaxing Exercises of the Whole 
Arm. 

I. 

1 . Stand with left foot at walking step in 
advance of right, letting right arm hang 
relaxed at side, and placing left hand on 
hip. 

2. Move the body forward and back, 
shifting the weight first to forward foot and 
then to back, and bending the knees more 
and more each time. If the arm is perfectly 
relaxed it will swing forward and back, 
going a little higher each time, until at last 
it moves clear around in a circle parallel to 
the body. 

3. Reverse the movement, placing right 
foot forward, and relaxing left arm. 

4. Double the movement, letting both 
arms hang relaxed, etc. 

{Repeat this movement five times.) 

II. 

1. Military position. 

2. Keeping body perfectly rigid, raise 
arms straight over head. 

3. Hold arms erect while counting 
twenty. 

4. Let them drop relaxed at sides. 
{Repeat this movement five times.) 

Relaxing Exercises for the Whole 
Leg. 

I. 

1 . Stand with the left foot on a thick 
book or a small elevation. Balance weight 
carefully on it. 

2. Let right leg hang relaxed. (If it is 
entirely relaxed, the toe will point down- 
ward.) 



3. Move the body forward and backward 
bending slightly at hips. This action of 
the upper body ought to swing the leg, if it 
is relaxed, very gradually higher and higher 
until it moves like a pendulum. 

4. Reverse the movement. 
{Repeat five times.) 

II. 

1 . Military position. 

2. Lift right leg straight out in front, 
having whole leg and foot tense, with toe 
pointing away from the body. 

3. Hold this position while counting 
four. 

4. Let the leg drop relaxed. 

5. Reverse this movement, lifting left 
leg, etc. 

{Repeat this eight times.) 

III. 

1 . Lie flat on the floor. 

2 . Lift right foot up as far as possible. 

3. Hold strained attitude while counting 
twenty-five. 

4. Let it drop relaxed. 

5. Reverse the movement, using left 
foot. 

{Repeat ten times.) 

Relaxing Exercises for Trunk and 

Arms. 

(To be taken without tight or stiff clothing.) 

i. Take a rather wide base, letting arms 
hang relaxed at sides. 

2. Slowly relax face, letting eyes close 
and chin drop. 

3. Slowly relax head, letting it drop 
forward on the breast. 

4. Slowly relax shoulders and spine, 
letting the head, arms and trunk sink grad- 
ually until the whole upper body hangs 
lifelessly to the hips. 

5. Hold this position while you can 
count thirty. 

6. Shift weight from right to left and 
back, repeating the movement until the 
relaxed trunk, arms and head swing from 
side to side. 

7. Slowly energize, letting the life steal 
upward through the spine, then shoulders, 
then head, then face ; and lifting the body 



PHYSICAL DEVELOPMENT 



3i 



into correct position, i. e. } hips and abdo- 
men back in place, and shoulders well 
drawn up, instead of being thrown back. 

This movement, especially, is often given 
by prominent nerve specialists to their 
patients as being fine for the nerves of the 
back, which are the most delicate of the body. 

Relaxing Exercises for the whole 
Body. 

{All tight or stiff clothing should be removed for this move- 
ment.) 

i. Lie flat on the back on the floor, 
with arms at sides, and eyes closed. 

2 . Lift the head and hold it off the floor 
while you count ten. 

3. Let it drop, relaxed. 

4. Lift right leg and hold aloft while 
counting twenty. 

5. L,et it drop relaxed. 

6. Lift left leg, and hold aloft while 
counting twenty. 

7. Let it drop relaxed. 

8. Lift right arm straight up while you 
count thirty. 

9. Let it drop, relaxed. 

10. Lift left arm straight up while you 
count thirty. 

1 1 . Let it drop, relaxed. 

12. Lie quietly five minutes until thor- 
oughly relaxed. 

This exercise is often given to produce 
sleep, and is much more restful to the 
body and mind than two hours of unre- 
laxed sleep. If you are at all nervous, lie 
down quietly and relax yourself. It will 
soothe you more than any amount of rest- 
less turning and twisting in trying to get to 
sleep. 

Before giving a recital I always go 
through with the relaxing exercises, and 
then lie down quietly for thirty minutes. 
It makes me feel delightfully refreshed. 

This completes the first of relazing exer- 
cises. Remember that unless you practice 
them faithfully, you will continue in your 
old faults. This is the only way to cure 
them. As you cannot build a symmetrical 
house without a foundation, so you cannot 
build a symmetrical body without the relax- 
ing exercises. In fact, they are the foun- 
dation of the house of strength, ease and 
grace. No teacher of elocution could com- 



mit a greater crime toward a pupil than to 
give him gesture work before curing him 
of his faults of carriage ! Such teachers 
bring ridicule upon our art, which is the 
oldest in the world, — the art of expression. 

Now that we have laid the foundation, 
let us put up the framework. For what 
does the framework stand ? Beauty ? No ! 
Grace ? No ! For what, then ? 

For strength. 

If the reader has access to a gymnasium , 
I should advise the use of the Indian clubs, 
dumb-bells, parallel bars, chest bars, vault- 
ing pole, punch-bag, rings and turning 
pole, for developing physical strength. I 
might say right here that this advice is to 
women and girls as well as to men and 
boys. All of the above-mentioned appara- 
tus can be used as well and as profitably by 
the one sex as by the other, if the women 
are properly dressed and do not go to an 
excess. 

One of the greatest pleasures I have ever 
known was in conquering the different appa- 
ratus until I could use them as well as any 
boy in the gymnasium. 

If you have not access to a gymnasium, 
you can do a great deal to develop your 
strength by using the following exercises : 

Exercises for Strengthening the 
Arms. 



Caution. — Every move of tbe following exercises must be 
made wtih energy. 

a. 

1. Military position and hands closed 
firmly at sides. 

2. Right hand at chest. 

3. Right hand back at side. 

4. Repeat. 

5. Left hand the same. 

6. Both hands the same. 



1. Both hands clenched on chest. 

2. Right hand shoot straight out in 
front at shoulder. 

3. Back to chest. 

4. Repeat. 

5. Left hand the same. 

6. Both hands the same. 



32 



PHYSICAL DEVELOPMENT 



c. 

i. Both clenched hands on shoulders. 

2 . Right hand s traight up . 

3. Back to shoulder. 

4. Repeat. 

5. Left hand same. 

6. Both hands same. 



II. 

' ' Anvil Movement . ' ' 

1 . Place clenched fists one on top of the 
other at arm's length in front, about on a 
level with the waist line, so that the thumb 
of the right hand touches the little finger of 
the left. 

2. Drop the right hand in a circular 
movement, bringing it around with all its 
force and striking the clenched left hand on 
top, send it round to come back and strike 
the right, which repeats the movement as 
before. This must be done in such a way 
that anyone looking at you from the side 
sees each arm perform a perfect circle. 

III. 

(To be practiced with care, being sure to keep the back rigid.) 

i. Military position. 

2 . Taking a chair by the top of back in 
the right hand, raise it slowly at full arm till 
on a level with the shoulder. 

3. Lower it slowly to ground. 

4. Use the left hand and arm. 

5. Put the chair in front of you, and lift 
it with both hands, being careful not to bend 
at the waist line. 

Suggestion. — A pail may be ijsed, beginning at first with 
v a little water in it, and increasing amonnt slowly. 



2. Right foot forward in a diagonal line, 
putting weight onto it at same time. 



aly a 



IV. 



1. Take hold of anything from which 
you can hang, a short distance from the 
ground. 

2. Try to draw your chin up to your 
hands. 

{Repeat this five times.) 

Exercises for Strengthening the 
Legs. 

1. Feet in military position, hands on 
hips. 



Back to place. 

Repeat. 

Left foot same. 

Right foot forward and back. 

Left foot forward and back. 

Right foot forward and back. 

Left foot forward and back. 



In this movement be sure to shift the weight with each move 
of the feet, 

II. 

1 Place hands on hips. 

2 . Run on toes round and round a large 
room or out of doors, being sure to touch 
merely the ball of the foot. 

III. 

1 . Heels together, body erect and lightly 
poised over the balls of the feet, and hands 
held out in balancing attitude. 

2. Bend the knees slightly. 

3. Jump straight up into the air, coming 
down on toes with heels still together 

4. Sink heels slowly to ground, but keep 
weight poised over balls of the feet. 

{Repeat ten times.) 

IV. 

1 . Place your back against a flat surface, 
say a door, being sure to see that your head 
and heels also touch the door, and that your 
hands are flat at sides. 

2. Without removing head from door, 
drop straight down as far as possible, bend- 
ing the body nowhere except at knees. 

3. Raise the body in same way. 
{Repeat four times.) 

(This movement, as you will find upon trial, is very difficult, 
and takes much practice before satisfactorily performed.) 

V. 



Military position. 
Raise right foot and kick violently. 
Right foot back to place. 
Raise left foot and kick violently. 
Left foot back to place. 
{Repeat ten times?) 

VI. . 



1 . Feet in military position, hands on 
hips. 



PHYSICAL DEVELOPMENT 



33 



2. Right foot forward. 

3. Shift weight to it. 

4. Bend right knee, sinking almost to 
floor, and keeping body perfectly erect. 

5. Rise slowly, keeping weight on the 
ball of the front foot. 

6. Shift weight to back foot. 

7. Right foot back to place. 

8. Reverse the movement, placing left 
foot forward, etc. 

{Repeat jive times .) 

Exercises for Making the Feet Strong 
and Peiabee. 

I might remark here that it is very im- 
portant to use the joints of the feet, if one 
desires to become a graceful walker. Noth- 
ing is more ungraceful than that flat-footed 
walk which one so often sees on the street. 

Siddons' Opinion. 

It is said of the great Siddons that at one 
time a young actor who had taken the peo- 
ple of England by storm, came to her to ask 
for her patronage. She put him upon the 
stage, watched him go through one scene of 
Hamlet, and then told him quietly but firmly 
that she had no place for him in her com- 
pany. When asked her reason for this deci- 
sion, she remarked : " My dear young sir, 
you walk as if your feet had no j oints . Every 
time your foot falls flatly on the plank, it 
sends a cold shiver all over me. Could I, 
think thee, fall in love with a flat-footed 
Hamlet ? Godzooks, no ! I prithee, go 
limber up thy joints ! " 

We cannot afford to slight the opinion of 
so great an artist as Siddons, therefore let us 
come to the point. 

I. 

1. Heels together, hand on hips, weight 
on balls of feet. 

2. Rise on toes slowly, counting one, 
two, three. 

3. Hold position, counting one, two, 
three. 

4. Sink slowly to first position, counting 
one, two, three. 

{Repeat Jive times, being sure to see that 
your body rises and sinks gradually but firmly , 
not in an uncertain manner.') 



Exercises to Stengthen the Hand. 

I. 

1 . Clench and open hand forcibly as if 
grasping and unwillingly releasing some- 
thing with which you do not wish to part. 

2. Do this first with one hand and then 
the other. 

{Repeat twenty times.) 

II. 

1 . Beginning at the centre of the palm, 
make the life and force flow gradually out- 
ward to the tips of the fingers and thumb, 
opening the hand slowly and forcibly at the 
same time. 

2. Close the hand in the same way, let- 
ting the life slowly flow from the finger-tips 
back to the centre of the palm. 

3. Work on this movement until the 
hands are so thoroughly under the control 
of the will that the movement resembles the 
opening and closing of the petals of a 
flower. 

Exercises for Strengthening the 
Back. 

There is a warning I should give, and 
perhaps this is the best place for it. It is : 

Women, be careful of your backs ! 

The most delicate and most easily injured 
part of a woman's body is the region around 
the waist line, just at the middle of the 
back. Why is it delicate? Because it is 
so terribly abused. Every time a woman 
puts on her hat, or ties her veil, or combs 
her hair, I will venture she misuses her 
back ! How do women stand when they per- 
form those functions ? They stand, as a 
rule, with their shoulders bent back, their 
abdomens protuding and their weight thrown 
way back on their heels. How should they 
stand ? They should stand with their shoul- 
ders erect, their backs either perfectly 
straight or bent slightly to the front, their 
abdomens back in place, and their weight 
always on the balls of the feet. 

My dear reader, if you are a woman, try 
to do these things properly next time, and 
see how much easier it is to do them with the 
correct than with the 1 incorrect poise. Also 
remember that it is just as important to 



34 



PHYSICAL DEVELOPMENT 



carry yourself properly in your home as it is 
on the streets, and, indeed, I might say 
more important, for more of your time is 
spent at home than on the streets. Have 
you ever known a woman who didn't care 
anything about her appearance at home, and 
who went around the house with her should- 
ers and abdomen entirely out of place, but 
who straightened up considerably and made 
a fairly good appearance on the street? I 
am sure you will not have to look far to 
find such a one. Very likely that woman 
was continually complaining of headaches 
and backaches. No wonder I With such 
treatment the wonder is that she was ever 
free from them. 

Half of the nervous disorders come, not 
so much from overwork, as from carelessness 
in the use of the body. Whenever I see a 
man or woman pounding along down the 
street, with the body all out of poise and the 
weight on the heels, it makes me shudder ; 
for I think how every step jars the delicate 
spine which, in turn, jars the base of the 
brain. What wonder that headache is the 
result ! 

Professor Paine, of astronomical fame, 
always walks on the tips of his toes. It looks 
rather peculiar to see a tall, thin person like 
the professor tiptoeing down the street, and 
the first time I saw him I was decidedly 
amused, though I instantly knew why he 
was doing it. His nervous system is very 
delicate, and he walks in this way in order 
to save his spine and brain from jarring. If 
he had only known, he could have accom- 
plished the same result without making him- 
self so conspicuous. One can walk with the 
entire weight on the balls of the feet just as 
well when the heels are touching the ground, 
as when they are not. In fact, that is ex- 
actly where one should always carry the 
weight. 

All of the movements I have given, work 
toward strengthening the back, inasmuch 
as the spine is to be held rigidly through 
most of them, and this very rigidity is of 
itself strength-giving. The relaxing move- 
ment for the trunk, head and arms is espe- 
cially good for that purpose, as, when the 
body is relaxed, the back is rested, and, 
when the spine is slowly energized, the 
back is made to use each vertebra separately. 



Therefore the back is made pliable and yet 
strong ; for it does all the work of lifting 
the heavy and apparently lifeless trunk, 
head and arms. 

I. 

(Before beginning this movement all stays and tight garments 
must be removed.) 

i. Place the feet a slight distance 
apart. 

2. Without bending the knees, bow the 
body forward, and very slowly down, down, 
with hands extended as if pressing some- 
thing to the floor. 

3. When you have reached your limit, 
rise slowly with palms turned upward as if 
pressing something toward the ceiling. 

4. When your hands are on a level with 
your shoulders, turn the palms down and 
repeat the movement. 

{Repeat' ten times.) 

II. 

1. Military position. 

2. Raise arms straight over head. 

3 . Quickly sway the body forward at the 
hips, and swing arms forcibly in a circular 
movement downward, trying to touch the 
floor. 

4. Raising the body quickly, repeat the 
movement. 

{Repeat ten times.) 

III. 

1. Military position! 

2. Place right foot forward and shift 
weight to it. 

3. Rise on tiptoe, and at the same time 
lift the arms, reaching up as far as possible, 
being certain not to bend back, but to reach 
forward and upward. 

4. Sink back to place, letting arms fall 
relaxed at sides. 

{Repeat ten times.) 

(This is one of the best exercises of iwhich I know, for length- 
ening the waist line. If properly done, it is one of the best for 
strengthening the back. If improperly done it is one of the 
worst.) 

Exercises for Putting the Shoulders 
in their Proper Place. 

1. Military position. 

2. Place the tips of the fingers on the 
tops of the shoulders. 



PHYSICAL DEVELOPMENT 



35 



3. Keeping the fingers in their places, 
revolve the elbows slowly toward the front, 
making them perform circles of which the 
shoulders are the centres, and which are as 
nearly parallel to the sides of the body as 
possible. 

Suggestion — This movement will be more easily arrived at 
if you imagine yourself standing between two black boards 
which are very close to you. Then imagine that the point of 
each elbow is a piece of crayon, and try to perform the largest 
and most perfect circles possible, using your shoulders as the 
centres. 

{Repeat the wovement ten times.) 

Reverse the movement, making the elbows 

start over and toward the back. 
{Repeat the movement ten times.) 
The idea in this movement is to make 

the elbows come as nearly as possible 
ier in the back 



II. 

1 . Place yourself in the corner of a room 
so that you are a foot and a-half from and 
facing the angle. 

2 . Place the palms of your hands so that 
they are on the two surfaces forming the 
angle, at about a foot and a half from the 
line of intersection, and so that they (the 
hands) are on an exact level with the 
shoulders, and with the fingers pointing up. 

3. Keeping the whole body (with the 
exception of the arms) perfectly rigid, and 
making the elbows move on a level with 
the shoulders, press your face forward until 
it rests in the angle formed by the intersect- 
ing walls. 

{Repeat ten times.) 

(This exercise is not only good for properly placing the should- 
ders, but also for strengthening theback and arms, and for widen- 
ing the chest line across the front while narrowing it across the 
back. At first it is apt to lame the muscles of the arms, chest, 
and back ; but if continued for several days, the lameness will 
vanish.) 

III. 

i. Military position. 

2. Raise the arms straight up in front 
till the palms of the hands touch on a level 
with the shoulders. 

3. Keeping the body perfectly rigid and 
erect, swing the arms quickly around to the 
same relative position in the back, making 
the backs of the hands meet on a level with 
the shoulders. 

{Repeat the movement ten times.) 

(This movement is always impossible to a beginner, but after 
three or four days' practice, comes very easily.) 



IV. 

1. Place your back firmly against a 
door, so that your shoulders and head touch 
the door. 

2. Interlace your fingers behind your 
neck, being sure to see that neither your 
head nor shoulders leave the door. 

3. While in this position make your 
elbows touch the same surface which your 
head and shoulders touch. 

4. When your shoulder-blades are per- 
fectly flat keep the same position, only walk 
about for five minutes. 

(This movement, if practiced faithfully, will entirely do away 
with protruding or prominent shoulder-blades.) 

Now that I have given exercises to 
strengthen each of the separate parts of the 
body, I shall give one which will test and 
develop the strength of the body as a whole 
or unit. 

Exercises to Strengthen the Body as 
a Whole. 

1 . Stand erect, with your feet a very lit- 
tle distance apart. 

2. Bend over until the palms of the 
hand are flat on the floor, and then, by mov- 
ing one hand before the other (keeping the 
feet where they are), advance your body 
along the floor until it is extended at full 
length, the weight resting entirely upon the 
toes and hands, and the whole body as rigid 
as a bar of iron. 

3. Still keeping the body rigid, slowly 
bend the arms at the elbows until the face 
touches the floor between the hands. 

4. Raise the body slowly until the arms 
are straight. 

5 . Repeat the raising and lowering pro- 
cess three times. 

6. Slowly move the hands toward the 
feet, the body having meantime bent itself 
double. 

7. Rise to upright position. 

In our house of beauty we have laid the 
foundation by means of the relaxing exer- 
cises, and built the framework by means of 
the strengthening exercises ; so we must 
now begin to put up the walls and build the 
roof, or, in other words, teach you to stand, 
to walk, and to do many other ordinary 



36 



PHYSICAL DEVELOPMENT 



things, properly and gracefully, for there is 
a good and a bad way to do everything. 

Those who are acquainted with the de- 
lightful little story, " The Birds' Christmas 
Carol," by Kate Douglas Wiggin, will 
doubtless remember Mrs. Ruggles' saying 
to the children before they started for their 
Christmas party, ' ' I wish I could git it into 
yer heads that 'taint so much what yer say, 
as the way yer say it ! ' ' Mrs. Ruggles was 
a philosopher ! She had discovered the 
secret of society i 

I say to you, " It isn't so much what you 
do, as the way you do it." 



Remember that you are being judged 
at all times and in all places. You may 
hand a beggar a penny and he will know 
you are a lady, while your next door 
neighbor may throw him a dollar and be 
judged just what he is, — a commoner. 
Not that the dollar isn't appreciated, but — 
" 'taint so much what you do, as the way 
you do it ! " 

The exercises which are to follow, though 
they oome under the head of Physical Cul- 
ture, are classified under the more specific 
branch called " Delsarte." {See next di- 
vision.} 



Part II 

DELSARTE TRAINING and ELOCUTION 



By FRANCES PUTNAM POGLE 



I never hear that name that I do not feel 
reverence for the man who bore it. 

•Sketch of Delsarte. 

Many years ago, in the early part of the 
nineteenth century, there was born in a little 
village in France, a child who was destined 
to become one of the most famous men of 
his times — Francois Delsarte. 

As is almost always the case with men of 
genius, his early life was anything but plea- 
sant. His father, a physician, was posses- 
sed of a proud, hard nature, which was not 
improved by constant worrying over money 
matters. 

Whenever anything went wrong, the 
father's spite was vented on his wife and 
sons. In fact, matters went from bad to 
worse, until one day the mother, feeling 
that anything was preferable to her past 
life, took her two small children and went 
to reside in Paris. 

Madame Delsarte was a woman of marked 
abilities, and, had she lived, would, doubt- 
less, have done much to encourage her 
elder son in his struggles to develop his 
talents ; but shortly after reaching her desti- 
nation, her sad career was brought to an 
abrupt close, and her two children were left 
shelterless in the streets of Paris. 

The younger child, a frail little fellow, 
was not long in following his mother, and 
thus we find Francois, at the age of ten, 
alone and penniless. 

A poor old rag-picker, finding the little 
fellow numbed with cold and weak from 
hunger, took him to his miserable home 
and cared for him. The next two years of 



Delsarte's life were spent in helping his pro- 
tector to gain a meagre livelihood. 

Not much chance to develop genius here! 
So it seems, but, nevertheless, it was during 
these two years that Delsarte's great passion 
for music began to show itself. Many a 
night, after a hard day's work, the poor lit- 
tle rag-picker would be seen following some 
favorite street band from place to place, sit- 
ting with rapt face until the music ceased, 
and then trudging patiently behind the 
musicians until they played again. 

One day Bambini, the great teacher, found 
a small ragged boy making peculiar marks 
upon the sand in the gardens of the Tuile- 
ries. 

1 ' What are you doing my child ? ' ' said 
the old professor, interested to know what 
was meant by the figures. 

1 ' Writing down the music that band is 
playing," somewhat impatiently replied the 
youngster, not knowing to whom he was 
speaking, and being anxious not to lose any 
of the tune. 

" Who taught you ? " said Bambini. 

" Nobody, sir ; I taught myself." 

Thus it was that Bambini discovered 
Delsarte. The kind-hearted master took 
the child home and taught him until the 
pupil outstripped the teacher. 

At 14, Delsarte entered the Conservatory, 
where he developed a style entirely different 
from that of his instructors. 

Malibran, the great singer, encouraged 
him in bis methods, and later on, by sheer 
pluck and indomitable will, Delsarte gained 
a position as principal singer in the Opera 
Comique. 



37 



38 



DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION 



After four years of almost unprecedented 
success on the stage, he had the greatest 
sorrow of his life — he lost his voice. Though 
terribly shaken by this calamity, he cour- 
ageously went to work at something which 
had always interested him — the study of the 
human body and its capabilities of expres- 
sion. 

His manner had always been distin- 
guished for its courtliness, and, in fact, dur- 
ing his operatic career, people had been 
attracted to him as much by his imperial 
gestures and wonderful grace of person, as 
by his magnificent voice; so, now that the 
one was gone, he decided to make use of 
the other. 

The first thing that he did was to make a 
thorough study of anatomy and physiology 
in order that he might know all of the uses 
and capabilities of the muscles. Then he 
began to study the effect of the different 
emotions upon the body ; and, in seeking 
his subjects for experiment and study, he 
went through the whole gamut of the social 
scale, from the highest to the lowest. In 
order to make his deductions, not from one 
class of individuals, but from all classes, 
he studied his friends, who were among the 
highest in rank, and also spent a great deal 
of time visiting the hospitals and prisons. 

Among his pupils were the great Rachel, 
Sontag and Macready on the stage ; and 
Pere Hyacinthe in the pulpit, besides mem- 
bers of most of the royal families of Europe, 
who sought his instruction in order to make 
themselves more attractive. 

Many persons are under the impression 
that Delsarte taught a new way to stand, 
sit, walk, and so forth ; but he did no such 
thing. He taught the best way to do these 
things in order to obtain the most ease and 
grace. Surely no one would be better able 
to do this than the man who made the art 
of expression his life study. 

What do we mean by ' ' Delsarte ' ' when 
we speak of it in the abstract ? 

Delsarte is the study of the human body 
with a view to making it respond easily and 
gracefully to the promptings of the soul, or, 
in other words, Delsarte is the art of expres- 
sion. 

Is it positively necessary to study Del- 
sarte in order to become expressive ? Look 



about you and see for yourself. Does your 
mother have any difficulty in expressing 
her anger ? Do you feel at a loss to express 
your indignation when you see any one 
stoning a poor dog ? Does the baby stop to 
wonder how it can let you know that it has 
cut its finger ? Not a bit of it. The diffi- 
culty lies in controlling your expression, so 
as to make yourself understood. The ques- 
tion is not, can you express your feelings, 
but — are you able to express them easily 
and gracefully. 

Emotions are expressed in different ways 
by different people, as, for instance, anger. 
Some express anger by tapping the floor 
with the foot, others by protruding the 
lower lip, and others in still different ways ; 
but there are certain general characteristics 
which always appear in an angry person, 
such as the clenching of the hands, the 
straightening of the figure to its full height, 
the terseness of all the muscles, the disten- 
sion of the nostrils, and the widening of the 
eyes. 

So it is with all emotions, and it is the 
study of these general characteristics that 
enables one to sink the individual in the 
type, a feat which is absolutely necessary 
in order to become a good elocutionist. 
There is nothing more detrimental to a pub- 
lic reader than to have mannerisms which 
he carries into his character sketches. He 
must absolutely lose himself in the charac- 
ter which he wishes to represent. Another 
thing to remember is this — in expressing a 
sentiment, you must do it in such a way 
that it will appeal to the instincts of every 
one in your audience as being the right 
expression. The only way to do this is to 
make use of the general characteristics. 

" But," you say, " How shall we know 
what are the general characteristics ? ' 
My answer is, " By keeping your eyes open, 
and by comparing the effects of the same 
emotion upon different people." In order 
to become a good impersonator, you must 
learn to notice everything that goes on 
around you. If you see a peculiar expres- 
sion on any face, go home and try to- imitate 
it. It is very seldom that I leave a street 
car, or return home from down-town with- 
out two or three examples which I mean to 
imitate as soon as I reach my room. In 



DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION 



39 



time, you will find that the study of faces is 
one of the most interesting occupations you 
have. There is a great pleasure in con- 
quering a set of unruly muscles and making 
them do as you wish. 

However, before trying to take on other 
people's characters and carriage, you must 
be perfectly sure of your own. Your body 
must be so thoroughly trained that it is 
under control, and will respond instantly 
and gracefully to the slightest emotion or 
volition. It must be so perfectly trained 
that an ungraceful or unsympathetic action 
would be impossible to it. 

How can you accomplish this result ? 
By constantly watching yourself and cor- 
recting every mistake immediately after it is 
made. We are mere creatures of habit, and 
if you never let a faulty action pass, by- 
and-by your body will form the habit of do- 
ing these things correctly, and then you will 
do them without thinking. You must be 
so sure of it that it never causes you a qualm ; 
or, in other words, you must be thoroughly 
master of your body before you can become 
unconscious of it. 

Have you never visited a reading class 
when you have thought to yourself, " How 
awkward these children are ! " Yet, ten to 
one, if you had seen these same children 
on the playground during the recess period, 
you would have thought exactly the oppo- 
site. Why is it ? Because the moment the 
child had a book put into his hand, and 
was told to "stand up and read," he 
became self-conscious. 

What is ' ' stage-fright ' ' ? 

It is merely another form of self-con- 
sciousness, — uncertainty as to appearance 
and correctness of poise. Therefore it is 
very important that you should know 
exactly how to poise yourself so that when 
you get up to recite, you will not be bothered 
by such questions as, " Am I standing 
right ? " or " Is my position graceful ? ' ' 
but you will know that it is all right. 

The Correct Position for Reciting. 

Stand easily, with one foot in advance of 
the other about the distance of a walking 
step, with the arnib relaxed at sides and the 
hands falling naturally slightly in front of 
the hips. Let the head and shoulders be 



held easily erect, being careful to avoid all 
appearance of stiffness or angularity. The 
weight must be kept over the balls of the 
feet, and shifted easily from one foot to the 
other, according to the emotion or character 
represented. 

There are three principal positions to be 
used in recitations — the objective, the nor- 
mal or neutral and the subjective. The ob- 
jective is with the weight poised over the 
front foot, and is used in all descriptive 
reading and in the emotions that are di- 
rected against things outside of your own 
body. The normal or neutral is with the 
weight poised over both feet, and is used to 
express uncertainty or doubt. The subjec- 
tive position is with the weight poised over 
the back foot, and denotes deep thought or 
meditation, fear and all emotions directed 
toward self. 

Unless you change your position with an 
object in view, avoid unnecessary shifting of 
weight, as it indicates nervousness. 

Be sure to keep a narrow base, as nothing 
will spoil your appearance on the platform 
more than standing with a broad base. 
There is a saying of Delsarte's that runs 
something like this : " A wide base indicates 
conscious weakness ; a narrow base, con- 
scious strength." For examples to prove 
this rule, we need not seek far. For instance, 
notice a child just beginning to walk. It 
is weak and uncertain of itself, and there- 
fore takes wide base. So does an intoxicated 
person, or one who is old and feeble. For 
an example of conscious strength and a 
narrow base, take the runner, or the statue, 
" Flying Mercury." In both cases the 
weight of the whole body rests upon the toe 
of one foot. 

Another suggestion which should always 
be heeded is this : Do not let the front knee 
be bent when your weight is on the back 
foot. Whenever this happens it, gives an 
awkward, humpish appearance to the whole 
body. 

The chest should be held well up, but not 
to the extent of giving a conceited look to 
the reader. 

Walking. 

An easy, graceful walk is so great a charm 
to one's personal appearance that no one 



4Q 



DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION 



can afford to slight it. Nothing gives one 
a greater appearance of good breeding or 
self-possession . 

Have you ever seen a woman stumble 
into a room as if dumped out of a bag ? 
Contrast this entrance with the easy, digni- 
fied entrance of some other guest, and the 
force of this suggestion will come home to 
you. 

One should never hurry into a room as if 
afraid the door would be shut if not there 
in time ; nor should one slink into a room 
as if wishing to get in without being seen ; 
but walk in easily and naturally, as if 
entering your own parlor. 

The same caution should be observed in 
taking the floor for reciting. Walk to your 
place naturally, forgetting none of the little 
courtesies of polite society, as if you were 
going to take a chair or do any other ordi- 
nary thing. Nothing is more ridiculous 
than a stilted or conceited manner, and 
nothing more to be avoided than a fright- 
ened, flurried appearance. 

This easy manner can be cultivated and 
acquired in time by perseverance. 

I shall never forget an experience that 
I had at a temperance entertainment. It 
was given in a friend's parlors for the 
benefit of the W. C. T. U. 

When the programme was about half 
finished, a number was announced, and, 
sailing up the centre aisle, came a girl of 
about twenty. Her face had on it an 
expression of sneering contempt which 
plainly said, " I know I am foolish to recite 
at this place. Nonet)f you are capable of 
entering into my high sentiments." She 
was followed by a chorus of very audible 
groans. 

Imagine the sympathy felt by the audi- 
ence for her when she began to recite, 
that beautiful, humble old poem of John 
Knox, "Why should the spirit of mortal 
be proud." 

I echoed the sentiments of a young fellow 
who sat in the same row with me. Turn- 
ing to one of his neighbors he said rather 
forcibly, — "Well — if that's elocution, — 
excuse me ! ' ' 

You cannot afford to lose the sympathy 
of your audience as did this young woman, 
sp beware ' 



Correct position in walking is the same as 
in standing ; but there are some suggestions 
which are important to remember. 

i . In walking, swing the leg as a unit 
from the hip, and never bend the knee of 
the forward foot. 

2 . Dignity is added to the walk by keep- 
ing the toe of the back foot on the ground 
as long as possible. This is what is called 
the " stage walk." 

3. The arms should never swing beyond 
the draperies, and, if relaxed, they will not 
do so. 

4. Be very careful not to break at the 
waist line, as that gives a slouchy appear- 
ance. The trunk from the hips up, should 
be perfectly rigid. 

5. Walk so that if you should strike a 
wall, your chest would strike first. In 
other words, your chest should always lead, 
and the head, feet and rest of the body 
should follow. 

6. Avoid walking with a jerk. The 
movement should be continuous and even. 

7. Do not swing the hips from side to 
side, as it gives an extremely vulgar effect. 

8. If you are going in one direction, and 
want to turn suddenly about, do not take 
three or four steps to turn yourself, but pivot. 

Exercises for Poise and to Properly 
Place the Weight. 



1. Military position. 

2. Rise slowly on toes, counting one, 
two, three. 

3. Sink slowly back until heels touch 
floor, counting one, two, three, as before, 
and keeping weight on the balls of the feet. 

{Repeat twenty tiniest) 



II. 



" Flying Mercury " Movement. 

1. Military position. 

2. Right foot forward at an angle of 
forty-five degrees from the front. 

3. Shift weight to right foot. 

4. Rise with weight poised upon the toe 
of the right foot, at the same time lifting 
the left foot off the floor, and raising right 
arm diagonally at front and just over the. 



DELS ARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION 



4i 



right foot, till on a level with the shoulder, 
while at the same time left arm rises diago- 
nally at back. 

5. I+ower heels and arms to place, and 
bring right foot back to military position. 

Reverse the movement, putting left foot 
forward, etc. 

{Repeat five times with each foot.) 



the head following the direction of the 
weight and the trunk taking the opposite 
direction. 

3. Reverse the movement, gradually 
withdrawing the weight from the right leg, 
give it over to the left, the head and trunk 
moving in opposition as before. 

{Repeat twenty times.) 



III. 

1. Stand in position, the heels a few 
inches apart, the toes pointing outward. 

2. With a springy, dancing movement 
of the body, take a step forward and back 
to place first with the right foot, then with 
the left springing lightly on the balls of the 
feet as in waltzing and marking time 
rhythmically, one, two forward and back 
to place on the right foot ; three, four 
forward and back to place on the left. 

3. Repeat the movement backwards, — 
one, two, backward and forward to place 
on the right foot ; three, four, backward 
and forward to place on the left foot. 

4. Continue the movement to the right 
and to the left, pointing the toes of the foot 
on which the step is taken, obliquely from 
the body, and marking time as before. 

{Repeat jive times?) 

IV. 

' ' Pendulum ' ' Movement. 

1. Stand with the feet slightly apart, 
the weight resting equally on both feet, 

2. Slowly sway the body forward until 
its weight rests entirely on the balls of the 
feet, but without lifting the heels from the 
floor. 

3. In the same manner sway backward 
as far as possible with the weight entirely 
on the heels. 

Avoid over-balancing in the movement, 
and bend no part of the body except the 
ankle joints. 



V. 



1. Stand with the feet slightly apart, 
the weight resting equally on both feet. 

2. Withdraw the weight gradually from 
the left leg, giving it entirely to. the right, 



Exercise to Acquire a Narrow Base. 

1 . Select either a crack in the floor or a 
seam in a carpet. 

2. Stand in military position directly 
over this line so that it runs between the 
two feet and touches the heels exactly at 
the line where they meet, and divides the 
angle between the two feet in halves. 

3. Keeping the feet in the same rela- 
tive position to the line, walk slowly for- 
ward, being sure to see that the heels 
do not cross the line but just touch it each 
time. 



Exercise to Avoid Bending the Front 
Knee. 

1. Military position, hands on hips. 

2. Shift weight to left foot. 

3. Without bending the right leg at the 
knee, swing it forward as a unit from the 
hip, counting one. 

4. Then swing it back as far as it will 
go, counting two. 

5. Repeat this three times and on the 
fourth, take a step putting weight into 
right foot and leaving left foot free. 

6. Reverse the first movement, swing- 
ing left leg forward and back three times, 
and stepping on the fourth swing. 

{Repeat this movement, walking slowly all 
around the room.) 

Pivoting Exercises. 
I. 

1. Feet a slight distance apart, weight 
on the balls of the feet. 

2. Put weight on left foot. 

3. Pivot from left to right at same time 
shifting the weight to right foot and lifting 
left foot from floor, 



42 



DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION 



4. Pivot from right to left, at same time 
shifting weight to left foot and raising right 
foot from the floor. 

{Repeat twenty times.) 

Suggestion : — Of course all pivoting is to 
be done on the toes, not on the heels. 



II. 



1. Military position. 

2. Right foot diagonally forward. 

3. Shift weight to right foot. 

4. Pivot from forward foot to back foot, 
shifting weight at same time and taking 
right foot off the floor. (If you have done 
this correctly, you ought to be facing diago- 
nally opposite to" where you first faced). 

5. Pivot from left foot to right foot, 
shifting weight to right foot at same time 
and lifting left foot off the ground. 

{Repea't twenty times?) 

III. 

Walk from one side of the room to the 
other, and when you have reached the other 
side, pivot on the forward foot and walk 
back, pivoting when reaching the opposite 
wall, etc. 

Exercises to Give Lightness to Body. 



I. 



1. Military position, hands on hips. 

2. Cross right foot in front of left, 
touching merely the toe of the right foot to 
the floor. 

3. Rise on toes and pivot clear around 
to left, coming back with right foot crossed 
behind left foot. 

4. Right foot back to military position. 

5. Reverse the movement, crossing left 
foot over right and pivoting to right. 

{Repeat twenty times.) 



II. 



1. Military position. 

2. Right foot diagonally forward. 

3. Shift weight to it. 

4. Pivot from right to left foot and kneel 
at same time over the strong {or left) foot. 



5. Rise on left foot, keeping all the 
weight on it. 

6. When erect, pivot and shift weight 
from left back to right foot, kneeling at same 
time over right foot. 

7. Rise on right foot, keeping all the 
weight on it. 

8. When erect, pivot and shift weight, etc. 
{Repeat this movement ten times with each 

foot.) 

Exercise to Add Dignity to Wale, or 
" Stage Walk." 

{During this exercise count one, two, three.) 

1. Military position. 

2 . Swing right foot forward from the hip 
about the distance of a walking step. 

3 . Shift weight to right foot , keeping the 
toe of the left foot on the floor and giving a 
forward impetus with it. 

4. Swing left foot forward from the hip 
the distance of a walking step. 

5. Shift weight to left foot, keeping the 
toe of the right foot on the floor and giving 
a forward impetus with it. 

{Repeat forty times.) 

Note. — In standing and walking one adds dignity to the ap- 
pearance by keeping as tall as possible. 

Along with walking should be considered 
what I think is very important — bowing. 
The old ceremonious bow is now out of 
vogue, and in its place we have a much 
more graceful substitute. The proper 
bow at the present time is a slight incli- 
nation of the whole body from the ankle 
upward. 

A nod of the nead is ill-bred. 

The side bow should be made over the 
weak foot {i. e., the foot on which the weight 
does not rest). 

The front bow {which is also the stage bow) 
should be made over the strong foot. 



Exercises for Bowing. Front, Street 
Bow and Stage Bow. 

I. 

1. Military position. 

2 . Put right foot forward, shifting weight 
to it, and, at same time, bowing over it to 
some imaginary approaching person. 



DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION 



43 



3. Reverse the movement, bowing over 
left foot, etc. 

4. Take it in connection with the walk- 
ing exercises. 

Notk. — In this exercise when the climax of the bow is 
reached, the body should have the form of a crescent, with the 
feet and chest as its tips, and the head held back in opposition to 
the trunk. When bowing to a person the courteous thing is to 
look in his eyes. 

Sidk, Street-Bow. 

(To be used when passing a person at close quarters.) 

i. Military position. 

2. Right foot forward, putting weight 
into it at same time. 

3. Bow from the ankle to the left over 
the left foot {which is also the weak foot) . 

4. Reverse the movement, bowing over 
the right foot. 

5. Take this in connection with the 
walking exercises, being careful not to im- 
pede the progress by the bow. 

The Comedy Bow. 

This is frequently made on the stage after 
one has made a particularly good hit in 
some funny selection, and is loudly ap- 
plauded. It consists simply in a nod of the 
head with the face looking jauntily over 
the shoulder, which is turned toward the 
audience. All that the audience sees in this 
bow is the back with the face peeping over 
its shoulder. 

Exercise in Waeking Backwards. 

Note. — Often after bowing at the end of a selection, one has 
to go back a number of paces in order to reach the stairs leading 
from the rostrum or stage. In this case one should never turn 
the back ro the audience, but should walk backwards till on a 
line with the steps and then walk off. 

i. Military position. 

2. Place right foot back, touching the 
toe to the floor, at the same time bowing 
the body forward from the ankle over the 
left foot, which is also the strong foot. 

3. Shift weight slowly to the back foot, 
at the same time lifting the heel of the front 
foot and straightening the body back until 
it forms a straight line from the crown of the 
head to the toe of the front foot, which just 
touches the floor. 

4. Place left foot back and repeat the 
movement. Keep on walking backward 
until the movement comes easily. 



Remember that in these movements the 
head moves with the weight, and in opposition 
to the trunk, the same as in the bows. 

How to Pick Up Anything. 

Often I have seen people make themselves 
ridiculons, if not positively vulgar, by 
bending over to pick up something, when 
they might have done it gracefully and much 
more easily, if they had only known how. 

Never bend over from the hips to pick 
anything up ; but always keep the trunk 
straight and bend the knees. This is so very 
important that I have decided to give 
special exercises for it. 

I. 

1. Military position. 

2. Place your left foot forward and put 
the weight on it. 

3. Drop your handkerchief on the floor 
at your right side. 

4. Without bending at the hips or waist, 
quickly drop straight down, keeping the 
weight still on the left foot, using the right 
foot merely to steady yourself; and, picking 
up the handkerchief in the right hand, rise 
quickly to first position. In this way the 
left leg does all the work, and none of the 
vulgar parts of the body are brought into 
prominence. 

5. Reverse the movement putting the 
right foot forward and dropping handker- 
chief to the left. 

{Repeat ten times.) 

II. 

1. Repeat the last movement, only 
throwing your handkerchief to a distance 
and then walking up to it, managing your 
steps so that the weak foot will always be 
next to the handkerchief. 

2. Practice this with someone else, 
having her drop her handkerchief, and you 
pick it up for her. In this exercise, in 
order to get the best effect you should be 
standing at a distance when the handker- 
chief is dropped. Be sure, after rising, in 
handing the handkerchief to the owner, to 
bow slightly and act as if it were a pleasure, 



44 



DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION 



saying "Allow me," "Permit me," or 
something to that effect. 

The receipient of the handkerchief should 
also bow slightly and render thanks. 

Our reason for introducing details which 
pertain to social life, in connection with a 
talk on Delsarte, consists in the fact that 
Delsarte is not applicable to the stage or 
rostrum alone, but to everyday life as well. 
Besides, if one does not perform these little 
offices correctly in everyday life, he will 
be certain to do them incorrectly before 
the public, when subject to a nervous 
strain. 

How to Sit. 

Suggestions on this subject are important, 
inasmuch as, not more than one person in 
a hundred takes a chair gracefully. The 
other ninety-nine either flounce, plump or 
bounce into it. Settle into your chair 
slowly and steadily. If there are arms to 
the chair, one hand may rest lightly on one 
of them. In other words, bow into the 
chair, or, as Delsarte says, melt into it. 

Always sit well back into the chair so 
that the back will not be bent, and keep the 
weight poised over the forward part of the 
lap, or toward the knees so that the trunk 
may be easily revolved in any direction, 
and the sitter may rise without giving a 
jerk at the start. 

I have seen people take hold of the arms 
of a chair and actually pull themselves up 
by the strength of their arms. That is very 
wrong. The arms should do none of the 
work in sitting or rising. It should be 
done by the trunk and legs. 

Never cross the legs, nor let the knees 
fall far apart. This gives as vulgar an 
effect to the body in sitting as a w T ide base 
does in standing. Let the knees fall close 
together with one foot in advance of the 
other. 

Never show the soles of the feet. The 
toe of the advanced foot should always 
touch the floor. 

The same caution about the waist line 
should be observed in sitting as in standing 
and walking. Be careful not to break at 
the waist line. Doing so, throws the circles 
out of oosition 



The Circles op the Body. 

Delsarte says we are to imagine that there 
are circles drawn around the body at the 
ears, at the neck, at the chest, at the waist, 
at the hips and at the ankles. These 
circles are always to be kept parallel. The 
moment one dips towards another, the body 
is out of poise. For instance, suppose that 
you are in the habit of walking with your 
head bent forward. Then the circle around 
your ears dips toward the circle around 
your neck. If you are in the habit of 
standing with your abdomen thrust forward, 
the circle around your hips slants upward 
in front towards the circle around the 
waist. 

This idea of the circles is a great help in 
keeping the correct poise. The circles may 
change their relative positions in, any way, 
just so they do not lose their parallel posi- 
tion, i. e., one circle may go in front of 
another, or back of another, as in sitting, 
when the circle around the ankles goes in 
front of the other circles ; or, as in lying 
down, when the circles may all be perpen- 
dicular but still parallel. 

Exercise in Sitting. 

i . Stand about six inches from a chair 
with your back towards it, and your hands 
clasped loosely, about on a level with the 
hips. 

2 . Weight on the left foot ; right foot 
back till it touches the chair. 

3. Shift weight to back foot, and at 
same time bend at hips and sink slowly into 
the chair, letting the body bow forward 
with the head moving in opposition to the 
trunk. 

4. When the body touches the chair, the 
back begins slowly at waist-line to touch the 
ekair-ba.c'k, the movement flowing slowly 
upward through the spine till it reaches the 
head, which is the last to touch. 

How to Rise. 

As you bowed yourself into your chair, 
so you must bow yourself out of it. The 
chest should be the first part to intimate the 
desire to rise. It bows forward, while the 



DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION 



45 



head moves back. Then, without jerkiness, 
the weight of the whole body is put onto 
the back leg, which rests against the chair, 
and the body lingeringly leaves the chair, 
gradually shifting weight to the front foot 
and bringing the body erect, lightly poised 
over the front foot. 

Exercise for Rising. 

i. Sit with the right leg touching the 
rungs of the chair, and hands loosely 
clasped in lap with every part of the back 
touching the chair-back. 

2. Advance the chest, letting the head 
follow T slowly. 

3. , Putting entire weight of the body on 
the back foot, rise slowly and steadily, let- 
ting the chest and head come to place 
just as the hips and knees become straight. 

4. Gradually shift the weight to the front 
foot, making the body as tall as possible, 
with merely the toe of the back foot touch- 
ing the floor. 

{Repeat.) 

How to Go Up and Down Stairs. 

(The following suggestions are important, not only for grace, 
but for health. No wonder people have back- and headache from 
running up and down stairs !) 

In the first place, one should never run 
up or down stairs, Don't go faster than a 
walk. 

The following exercises give the best ad- 
vice so far discovered by physical culturists 
and physicians : 

Exercise for Going Up Stairs. 

Note. — The body should be kept perfectly erect throughout 
the entire exercise. 

i . Stand with the weight on the balls of 
the feet. 

2. Place right foot flat upon the step 
above, keeping the weight opon the left foot. 

3. Rise upon the toe of the left foot, at 
same time giving a little upward impetus 
with it which elevates the body and shifts 
the weight to the right foot, while the left 
foot goes up two steps to the next step above 
the right. 

4. Rise upon the toe of the right foot, at 
same time giving a little upward impetus 
with it which elevates the body and shifts 



the weight to the left foot, while the right 
foot goes up two steps to the next step above 
the left. 

In this way, the calf of the leg, the ankle, 
and the foot, do all the work. 



Exercise for Going Down Stairs. 

Note. — The body should be held easily erect during this en- 
tire exercise. 

1. Standing on the top step, bend the 
right knee till the toe of the left foot touches 
the next step below, then shift weight grad- 
ually to it, at same time gradually lowering 
the left heel to step. 

2. In the same way bend the left knee 
till the toe of the right foot touches the 
next step below, then gradually shift weight 
to it, at same time gradually lower right heel 
to step. 

Gesture. 

Gesture is the language of nature. 

Before the little child can speak, it reaches 
out for anything that it wants, or shoves 
away anything that it does not want. 

On consideration, you will find that the 
nearer a people live to the heart of nature, 
the more expressive become their bodies and 
the less expressive become their tongues. 
Their language is more one of signs and less 
one of speech, as, for instance, in the case 
of the Indians. 

Then, again, gesture varies with climate 
and race. In the colder climates the ges- 
tures are more the result of mental ef- 
fort, and, therefore, are slower and calmer, 
while in the warmer climates they are the 
result of emotion, and, therefore, are quicker 
and more passionate. 

The French, as a class, gesture a great 
deal. They belong to the Latin Race. 
Their next-door neighbors, the Germans, 
are, as a rule, very undemonstrative. They 
belong to the Teutonic Race. However, 
gesture belongs, more or less, to all peoples, 
and, hence, is very important to one who 
desires to impersonate characters. 

There are some general rules in regard to 
gesture which it is well to remember. 

1. In the first place, let your gestures 
spring out of the thought or feeling. 



4 6 



DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION 



Never make a meaningless gesture. None 
at all is better than that. 

2. In a recitation in which more than 
one person is talking, make each talk in 
a different direction ; but never straight 
to the front. Your own character reserves 
that direction for use in the descriptive 
parts. 

3. In a descriptive reading, always place 
the thing or action, described, on one side 
or the other, at an angle of about forty-five 
degrees from the front, and then look from 
it to the audience, making them see it as 
you do. 

4. If you are representing the conversa- 
tion between a child and a grown person, 
make the child look tip in one direction, and 
the grown person look down in the other 
direction, just as in real life, and assume 
the character each time before you make it 
speak . 

5. Be careful not to make your gestures 
too realistic. Remember that elocution 
and Delsarte are the arts of expression ; 
and that the word " art " means the thing 
idealized or made attractive. " To illustrate, 
take the attitude of prayer. The realistic 
representation would be the kneeling pos- 
ture ; but the idealistic or artistic repre- 
sentation would be with the head bowed in 
a humble attitude with hands crossed or 
folded on breast, and with the whole figure 
drooping, but not kneeling. You must 
always leave something to the imagination 
of your audience. 

6. Unless you see what you are describ 
ing or pointing out, you can never make 
your audience see it. First see the thing 
yourself and then make them see it. 

7. Before making any character gesture, 
be sure that your whole body has taken on 
that character. 

8. Gestures should always have the 
appearance of being unstudied and spon- 
taneous. In order to accomplish this result, 
you must become so accustomed to them 
beforehand that they will come without 
forethought whenever you recite that selec- 
tion. "A little learning is a dangerous 
thing," you know. 

9. Remember that in good gestures, the 
whole body must act in harnony. No 
matter how graceful one part may be, if the 



other parts are awkward, then the whole 
gesture is spoiled. 

10. Make your gestures speak so plainly 
that they can be understood without lan- 
guage. 

11. Every gesture has three parts to it, 
and one is as important as another. They 
are the approach, the climax and the finish. 
To illustrate what is meant by these terms, 
look at the poses in connection with this 
article. Each picture represents the climax 
of that particular gesture. The movement 
necessary to reach that attitude was ' ' the 
approach ; ' ' and the movement necessary 
to bring the body back to its normal poise, 
was "the finish." In the approach and 
finish of a gesture, the arms and hands 
should always move in curves. The climax 
is denoted by an acceleration of movement 
followed by an abrupt stop. 

1 2 . Let your strong and artistic gestures 
be full-armed, with the elbow either per- 
fectly straight or else slightly curved, but 
never angular. 

13. In comic gestures it is frequently 
allowable to use only the forearm and 
hand. 

14. In all gesture the wrist should lead, 
and the hand, trail. 

Deesarte's Laws of Gesture. 

1 . ' ( The velocity of any agent is in 
proportion to the mass moved and the force 
moving." By this Delsarte means that all 
weighty ideas or grave emotions require 
slow gestures moving through large space, 
while all lighter sentiments are expressed 
by rapid movements through short space. 

2. "All gesture must have direction." 
Unless they have, they will be wavering 
and, therefore, weak. 

3 . " Movements in the same direction 
should be successive." This applies to 
such poses as "Longing," "Supplication," 
etc, where the head, body and arms move 
in the same general direction. In such 
cases, the movement should always be suc- 
cessive, i. e., one part taking its place, then 
another, etc. Of course, the succession 
should be so rapid that it is barely per- 
ceptible. For instance in " Longing," first 
the eyes turn toward the thing longed for, 



DELS ARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION 



47 



then the whole body sways towards it, and 
then the arms reach for it. 

4. (< Movements in opposite directions 
should be instantaneous," as in "Com- 
mand, Go!" "Rejecting," etc. In both 
of these poses the head moves in opposition 
to the hand and arm, therefore all parts 
come to the position instantaneously. 

5. "In gesture, the eye always leads." 
In other words, you look at, or away from 
a thing or person, and then the body follows 
the lead of the eye. 



Exercises for Harmonic Poise of Arms 
and Hands. 



Feather Movements.^ 



1. Stand with body easily erect, arms 
extended at full length, hands (palms down- 
wards) relaxed, about on a level with the 
hips. 

2. Keeping the wrists close together, 
raise arms slowly, letting hands hang re- 
laxed. 

3. When over the head, let the hands 
fall back, and lower the arms slowly, letting 
wrists lead and hands trail. 

(Repeat twenty times.) 



3, When they have reached the farthest 
possible distance apart let the hands fall 
back and the wrists lead toward each other 
on a line a little higher from the floor. 

4. When they meet, repeat the move- 
ment, each time raising the line of action 
until it has reached the farthest possible 
distance from the floor, then descend in the 
same way. 



IV. 



1. With wrists leading, hands trailing, 
pull imaginary candy on a diagonal line, 
with the right hand going up, and the left 
hand, down. 

(Repeat ten times.) 

2. Reverse the movement, having left 
hand going up and right hand down. 

(Repeat ten times.) 



V. 



(In this movement, the hands close as 
the arms go up, and open as the arms go 
down.) 

1. With hands out at sides, imitate the 
flying movements of a bird letting the arms 
float slowly up, hands trailing relaxed. 

2. Arms float slowly down, hands trail- 
ing back. 



II. 



1. Standing easily erect, trace a large 
figure eight upon the opposite wall with the 
index finger of the right hand, letting the 
wrist lead in all directions and the hand 
trail. 

2. Trace figure eight with left hand. 

3. Trace figure eight with both hands, 
first keeping them moving in opposite direc- 
tions, and then parallel. 



III. 

Note : — Be careful to see that there are no angles in this 
movement. 

1. Palms together in front on a level 
with the hips. 

2. L,et them separate, going in opposite 
directions, wrists leading, hands trailing. 



VI. 



1 . Imagine feathers to be floating around 
you, and press them down so carefully that 
they will not stick to your fingers. (In this 
movement, when the hand goes down, the 
fingers should go back ; and when the hand 
goes up, the fingers should trail.) 

2. Turn the palms up. Press feathers 
up. 

3. Turn the backs of the hands to- 
gether, and press feathers out. 

4. Press the feathers together. 



VII. 

1. Place hands on chest with tips of 
fingers clustered around thumbs. 

2. As the arms open outward slowly, 
(wrists leading,) the hands slowly open. 



4 8 



DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION 



3. As the arms come back to first posi- 
tion (wrists leading) hands slowly close. 
{Repeat twenty times. ) 

VIII. 

1. Hands extended out in front on a 
level with the waist, with palms toward each 
other but about a foot apart. 

2. Letting wrists lead and hands trail, 
move both arms to the right. 

3. Wrists still leading, hands trailing, 
move both arms to the left. 

Repeating many times until the move- 
ment is light and airy, being careful that no 
angles are formed at the right and left. 



X. 

1. Place right foot forward and shift 
weight to it. 

2. Bow the body forward over the right 
foot, letting chest lead and head follow, and 
at the same time raising right hand to lips 
as if to drink from the palm, (wrist leading, 
hand trailing.) 

3. Letting the hand turn palm down- 
ward, and trail to place, raise the body 
slowly to first position, timing the move- 
ment so that hand and body come to posi- 
tion at same time 

Reverse the movement. 
{Repeat ten times.) 



IX. 

1 . Slowly bow the head on the chest, at 
the same time raising the arms, wrists 
leading. 

2. Slowly raise the head, and lower the 
arms, wrists leading. 



XI. 

1. Move the body and head to right, 
while hands move to left, as in the pose, 
"Hatred." 

2. Reverse the movement. 
{Repeat ten times.) 



ELOCUTION 



According to the Latin, the word elocu- 
tion means "to speak out," from ^mean- 
ing out, and loqui meaning to speak. 

The English meaning follows the Latin 
exactly ; so there we have it, — ' Elocution 
means, to speak out." 

In beginning the study with new pupils, 
the first thing I observe is the manner in 
which they breathe. 

Breathing. 

You should breathe deeply, or so that the 
lowest cells of the lungs can receive some 
fresh air with every inhalation. The ex- 
pansion and contraction of the lungs should 
take place more in the lower, than in the 
upper parts. In fact, the chest should be 
used merely as a sounding board, or reso- 
nance cavity, through which the breath has 
to pass. This deep, even breathing is what 
gives the clear, ringing tones to the voice. 



Without it, a voice will not carry. It is 
what enables orators to speak for hours at a 
time without apparent effort. We find the 
deep breathing more frequently in men than 
in women, probably because the former 
wear looser clothing. 

Breathing Exercises. 



I. 



1. Body erect, press hands firmly on 
sides just at waist line. 

2. Inhale slowly through the nose, 
making hands move out perceptibly by 
expansion of the lower lungs. 

3. Exhale slowly through the mouth, 
as if blowing something to cool it, making 
hands come closer together by contraction 
of the lower lungs. 

{Repeat ten times?) 



DELS ARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION 



49 




WATCHING 



II. 



1. Hands in same position. 

2. Take the same exercise, only inhal- 
ing and exhaling violently. 

{Repeat ten times.) 



Ill 



i. Arms at sides. 

2 . Raise the arms slowly at sides till the 
hands meet over head, at same time inhal- 
ing slowly. 

3. Lower the arms to piace, exhaling 
slowly. 

{Repeat ten times.} 



IV. 



1. Hands on chest. 

2. As the arms slowly open outward, 
fill the lungs to their utmost capacity. 

3. As the hands come back to chest, 
expell the breath slowly. 

{Repeat ten times.} 



1. Hands, pressing sides at waist line, 
take in a deep breath. 

2 . Pronounce the word , ' ' One ! , ' ' slowly 
and clearly. 

3. Inhale slowly. 

4. Pronounce ' ' One ! ' ' 

{Repeat twenty times, taking breath between 
the words each time^) 

VI. 

Take same exercise, using the word 
"War!" 

Focusing the Tone. 

Another thing to be careful about, is the 
focusing of the tone. Unless you are par- 
ticular about this your words will be muf- 
fled and " throaty." 

Though you may not know it, you can 
throw your tone almost any place within a 
certain limit. Aim your voice at one of 
the upper corners of a room and see if you 
cannot make that corner ring. In reciting, 
one should always throw the voice to the 




JOY or GLADNESS 



5° 



DELS ARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION 




WELCOME— DELIGHT 

farthest corners of the room. The voice 
need not necessarily be loud ; but it must 
be firm and resonant. 

To focus your tone properly, take any 
word which begins with m, as more or man, 
and say it slowly, holding on to the m until 
the sound rings in the upper part of the 
head, and makes the lips tingle; in other 
words, think ox focus the tone at the lips. 

Many people waste breath by letting the 
tone come up in a slip shod manner, and 
strike the roof of the mouth, from which 
it has to rebound in order to reach the lips. 
When the tone rebounds, much of it goes 
down the throat again and muffles the next 
tone. Throw your tone like a ball, letting 
it make a curve at the back of the mouth and 
be free of obstacles until it reaches the lips. 

You will be materially helped in focusing 
your tone, if you place your lips in posi- 
tion to say the word, before you say it. 



2. Take a deep breath, filling lower 
lungs. 

3 . Place lips in position to say the word 
boat. 

4. Say it quickly and loudly, making 
the last letter sound as distinctly as the 
first. 

5. Take breath. 

6. Repeat word. 

Note : — This exercise may be used taking the vowels, or any- 
short word in the same way. 

IyOUDNKSS. 

To acquire loudness of voice, there is 
nothing better than sustained shouting. 

I. 

Imagine yourself on a storm-tossed boat,, 
watching for a rescuing sail. You see one, 
and, putting your hand to your mouth, you 
shout as loudly and clearly as you can (for 
your life depends upon it.) 

1 * Ship ahoy ! ' ' 

{Repeat five times.) 



Exercise for Focusing Tone. 

pressing on sides at waist 



r . Hands 
line. 




FLIGHT 



DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION 



5i 




MONOSYLLABLES AND DIFFICULT WORDS : 
Note. — Consulta Standard dictionary for correct pronunciation. 



THE COURTESY OF YE OLDEN TIMES 
II. 

Practice the street cries, imagining your- 
self a vender. 

Such calls as ' ' Charcoal ! " " Appo ! ' ' 
etc. 

Suggestion. — Practice as much as possible in a large room. 

Distinctness. 

Many people are very indistinct in their 
speech for the simple reason that they are 
slovenly in pronunciation. They are very 
apt to omit a letter or an entire syllable 
from a word, thereby making it indistinct ; 
or perhaps they have a habit of letting the 
voice fall at the end of a word, thereby 
causing it to be inaudible. 

Remember that it is just as important to 
pronounce the last letter or syllable dis- 
tinctly, as the middle or first. 

A good way to cure this is to practice, — 
at first slowly and distinctly, and then 
quickly and distinctly, — difficult combina- 
tions of consonants in words, and difficult 
combinations of words in sentences. 

Try the following list of 



Wrong'st, 
Heal' st, 
Runn'st, 
Roll'dst, 
Rewardst, 
Throng 'dst, 
Charm' dst, 
Learn' dst, 
Publicist, 
Physicist, 



Lucubration, 

Lugubrious, 

Deglutition , 

Apocrypha, 

Articulately, 

Affability, 

Chronological, 

Circumlocution, 

Dietetically, 

Disinterestedly. 



Difficult Sentences. 

1. Amos Ames, the amiable aeronaut, 
aided in an aerial enterprire at the age of 
eighty-eight. 

2 . A big black bug bit a big black bear. 

3. Bring a bit of buttered bran bread. 

4. Geese cackle, cattle low, crows caw, 
cocks crow. 

5 . Kight great gray geese grazing gaily 
into Greece. 

6. Eight great gray geese in a green 
field grazing. 




coquetry 



52 



DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION 




RIDICULE 

7. Loving Lucy likes light literature. 

8. Peter cut the pulpy pumpkin and 
put it in a pipkin. 

9. Round the rough and rugged rock 
the ragged rascal ran. 

10. Say, Susan, should such a shapely 
sash shabby stitches show ? 

1 1 . She sells sea-shells at the seashore. 
Shall Susan sell sea-shells ? 

1 2 . Some shun sunshine. Shall she shun 
sunshine ? 



13- 
14. 



15 



16. 



17 



The sun shines on the shop signs. 

Swan swam over the sea, 

Swim, swan, swim, 

Swan swam back again, 

Well swam, swan ! 

Amidst the mists and coldest frosts, 

With stoutest wrists and loudest 
boasts, 

He thrusts his fists against the posts 

And still insists he sees the ghosts. 

Six long, slim, sleek, slender sap- 
lings. 

Six thick thistle-sticks and fine 



18. What whim led White Whitney to 
whittle, whistle, whisper, and whimper, 
near the wharf where a floundering whale 
might wheel and whirl ? 

19. Peter Prangle, the prickly, prangly 
pear-picker, picked three pecks of prickly, 
prangly pears from the prickly, prangly 
pear-trees on the pleasant prairies. 

20. Theophilus Thistle, the successful 
thistle-sifter, in sifting a sieve full of unsifted 
thistles, thrust three thousand thistles 
through the thick of his thumb. Now, if 
Theophilus Thistle, the successful thistle- 
sifter, in sifting a sieve full of unsifted this- 
tles, thrust three thousand thistles through 
the thick of his thumb, see that thou, in 
sifting a sieve full of unsifted thistles, thrust 
not three thousand thistles through the 
thick of thy thumb. Success to the suc- 
cessful thistle sifter. 

Beside these difficult combinations of 
consonants, there are many difficult combi- 
nations of vowels and consonants which 
often make a short word harder to pro- 
nounce than a long one. For instance, 
comparatively few people pronounce the 




white-wine vinegar with veal. 



MIRTH 



DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION 



53 




REVENGE 

long u correctly when it comes after d, t, /, 
n, r and s. It should be pronounced exactly 
like u in beauty, but most people pronounce 
it like long oo. Instead of saying duty, they 
say dooty. 

WORDS IN WHICH LONG U IS OFTEN 
MISPRONOUNCED . 



Tuesday, 

Endure, 

Duel, 

Tumor, 

Ludicrous, 

Numerous, 

Altitude, 

Dubious, 

Tumult, 

Luke, 

Neutral, 

Dupe, 

Duke, 

Tune, 

Luminous, 

Be careful of the 



New (ew-u,) 

Blue, 

Dude, 

Institute, 

Lubricate, 

Lure, 

Assume, 

Duty, 

Tube, 

Lucid, 

Suit, 

Due, 

Dew (ew-u,) 

Nuisance. 

short Italian a 



We have no difficulty with the loyig 
Italian a (marked a) as in father, arm, 
calm, etc., but when we come to the short 
Italian a we are apt to pronounce it like 
short a. For instance, instead of saying 
ask we say as' k. 

Pronounce the word arm, slowly. Pro- 
nounce the a alone just as it was in arm. 
Say the same a very quickly. This last is 
the short Italian a, a beautiful sound. It is 
the same as the long Italian a in quality, 
but shorter in quantity. 

WORDS IN WHICH SHORT ITALIAN A IS 
OFTEN MISPRONOUNCED. 

Note : — Each word should be pronounced quickly. 

Quaff. Flask , 

Chaff, Task, 

Class, Bask, 

Pass, Waft, 

Mass, Draft, 

Grass, Shaft, 

Lass, Aft, 

Cask, Daft, 

Ask, After. 




HATRED or AVERSION 



54 



DELS ARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION 




ANGER 

Mask, Asp, 

Rasp, Fast, 

Gasp, Dance, 

Hasp, Chance, 

Grasp, Glance, 

Cast, Trance, 

Vast, Slant, 

Mast, Pant, 

Last, Chant, 

Past, Grant. 

Pastor, 

In such words as adventure, nature, litera- 
ture and furniture be careful not to pronounce 
the / before the long u as if it were eh. For 
instance, do not say literachure ,but/iterat-ure . 
By putting the / at the end of the syllable 
preceding the u, instead of attaching it to the 
u, the proper result is more easily attained . 
The only way to pronounce these words 
properly is to make a list of them and prac- 
tice until you are sure of the pronunciation. 

Flexibility of the Voice. 
Often one will read along without ever 
lowering or raising the pitch of the voice. 
This produces a monotonous effect. 



i. In order to cure this defect, practice 
on the vowels, first at the natural talking 
pitch, then a half-tone higher, and so on 
until you get to your highest limit. Then 
go back to the conversational pitch and 
lower the voice a half-tone at a time until 
you come to the lowest level. Work more 
on the high and low tones in this exercise 
as these are always the weakest. 

2. Take any word, as, for instance yes, 
and pronounce it in such ways that it will 
express surprise, positiveness, suspense, 
doubt, unwillingness, eagerness, etc. 

3 . Express the following sentence , begin- 
ning at your highest pitch, and making the 
voice go down a note with each word. It is 
meant to express incredulity and amazement. 

"Did 



you 



believe 



what 



he 



said 



to be 



true?" 




supplication 



DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION 



55 




FEAR 

4. Read or rather say the following : — 

a. " Good ing !" 

morn 

b. I saw ! 
" I came ! 

I conquered ! ' ' 

5. In enumerating a number of things 
the voice should have the upward slide on 
every one except the last, where it has the 
downward slide. 

6. In making comparisons, the first part 
should always have the upward slide, the 
second part should have the downward. 

7. One of the most effective ways of 
emphasizing, is to change the pitch on the 
important word in the following : — 

really 

" Did you do it?" 

Practice on all of these exercises and on 
others following the same tendency i. e. to 
make the voice flexible. 

Slowness. 

Never recite fast, except in two or three 
cases which will be mentioned hereafter. 



Though I have not put this caution near 
the first, yet, to me, it is one of the most im- 
portant. 

To begin with, when you get up to recite, 
always take time to place your audience, 
and give them time to become quiet, before 
you so much as open your lips. Then an- 
nounce your subject and the author if you 
know by whom your selection was written. 
This always gives time to collect your 
thoughts and begin well, which is very im- 
porla?it. If you begin well you hold your 
audience from the first, and do not have to 
work to gain their attention . 

After announcing your subject and 
author, pause a second and then begin very 
slowly. Remember that the ideas you are 
presenting are comparatively new to your 
audience, and give them a second's time in 
which to recover from one volley, before 
you fire another point-blank at them. 

Then there is another thing to be consid- 
ered. In a large room you will have to go 
slowly on account of the echo, for every 
good-sized room has it. No matter how 




HORROR 



56 



DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION 




SECRECY 

clearly or loudly you speak, if you do not 
speak slowly enough for the echo of one 
word to die before you utter another, the 
sound will be blurred ; and those in the rear 
of your audience will not be able to under- 
stand you. Again remember that often a 
pause is more eloquent than words, and that 
nothing will emphasize a thought more 
strongly than to pause before or after it ; or 
both before and after it. For instance, in 
Daniel Webster's ' ' Supposed Speech of 
John Adams," what could be more effective 
than the pauses in the last sentence ? ' ' In- 
dependence now — , and independence — for 
ever. 

Different Styles of Reading. 

Now that we have considered the qualifi- 
cations of a public speaker, let us discuss 
the different styles of reading and the proper 
rendition of each. 

We divide all styles of reading into two 
general classes — that in which the natural 
voice is used and that in which the Orotund 
voice is employed. 



i . Styles of Reading in the Natural 
Voice. 

The natural voice is the ordinary talking 
voice, purified of all defects. 

Great care should be taken to make this 
as clear, distinct and musical as possible, 
avoiding all nasal or "throaty" tenden- 
cies. 

a. Pathos. 

The first style to be mentioned under this 
class is Pathos. 

In the rendering of Pathos, not only the 
natural voice is required, but also the 
Effusive Utterance, by which we mean that 
the sound must flow from the mouth, not 
jerkily, but in a continuous stream. In 
the Effusive Utterance the breathing must 
be so even and deep that it is imperceptible. 
To acquire this style, practice on pathetic 
selections, letting yourself be swayed by the 
emotion . 




REJECTION 



DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION 



57 




COMMAND— "STOP !" 

Practice Selections 

."Little Homer's State" 

By Eugene Field. 
" Little Boy Blue" 

By Eugene Field. 

b. Solemnity. 

The requirements for rendering Solemnity 
are Natural Voice, Effusive Utterance, and 
Low Pitch. 

To find the Low Pitch, say the word one 
in your ordinary talking pitch and descend 
four notes. 

Practice Selection 

" The Blue and the Gray." 

c. Serenity, Beauty and Love. 

The requirements for this style of reading 
are Natural Voice, Effusive Utterance, and 
High Pitch. By High Pitch, we mean four 
notes above the conversational tone. Much 
care should be taken to make the sound 
come gently and continuously from the lips, 
as a false note is very perceptible. 



Practice Selection 

" Sandolphon," 

By Longfellow, 

d. Common Reading. 

Under this head come three divisions, — 
narrative, descriptive and didactic recita- 
tions. As two-thirds of all reading matter 
are included under Common Reading, we 
should give especial attention to the render- 
ing of it. 

The requirements necessary to read these 
three styles well, are — Purity of Tone, 
Natural Voice, Variety of Tone, and Dis- 
tinctness of Enunciation. 

Let your voice run up and down the 
scale ; do not keep it always on the same 
note. If you do, your reading will be 
monotonous. 

Every tone should fall from your lips as 
clearly and musically as the tinkle of a 
drop of water in a silver basin. Round 
out your words, pronouncing every syllable 
and letter. For instance, do not pronounce 




COMMAND— "GO 



.58 



DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION 




SCORN— INDEPENDENCE 

the word kept as if it were spelled kep> nor 
and as if it were spelled an. When you 
come to a difficult sentence, read it very 
slowly. 

Practice Selection 

SCENE AT DR. BLIMBER'S 

At length Mr. Dombey, one Saturday, 
when he came down to Brighton to see 
Paul, who was then six years old, resolved 
to make a change, and enroll him as a small 
student under Dr. Blimber. 

Whenever a young man was taken in 
hand by Doctor Blimber, he might consider 
himself sure of a pretty tight squeeze. 
The Doctor only undertook the charge of 
ten young gentlemen, but he had always 
ready a supply of learning for a hundred, 
and it was at once the business and delight 
of his life to gorge the unhappy ten with it. 

In fact Dr. Blimber's establishment was 
a great hot-house, in which there was a 
forcing apparatus incessantly at work. All 



the boys blew before their time. Mental 
green peas were produced at Christmas, 
and intellectual asparagus all the year 
around. No matter what a young gentle- 
man was intended to bear, Dr. Blimber 
made him bear to pattern, somehow or 
other. 

This was all very pleasant and ingenious, 
but the system of forcing was attended 
with its usual disadvantages. There was 
not the right laste about the premature 
productions and they didn't keep well. 
Moreover, one young gentleman, with a 
swollen nose and an exceedingly large head 
(the oldest of the ten who had ' ' gone 
through ' ' everything) suddenly left off 
blowing one day, and remained in the 
establishment a mere stalk. And people 
did say that the Doctor had rather overdone 
it with young Toots, and that when he 
began to have whiskers he left off having 
brains. 

The Doctor was a portly gentleman in a 
suit of black, with strings at his knees, 
stockings below them. He had a bald 




GRIEF, or HEARING BAD NEWS 



DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION 



59 




PHYSICAL PAIN 

head, highly polished ; a deep voice ; and a 
chin so very double, that it was a wonder how 
he ever managed to shave into the creases. 

His daughter, Miss Blirnber, although a 
slim and graceful maid, did no soft violence 
to the gravity of the Doctor's house. 
There was no light nonsense about Miss 
Blirnber. She kept her hair short and 
crisp, and wore spectacles, and she was 
dry and sandy with working in the gra\es 
of deceased languages. None of your live 
languages for Miss Blirnber. They must 
be dead, — stone dead, — and then Miss 
Blirnber dug them up like a Ghoul. Mrs. 
Blirnber, her mamma, was not learned 
herself, but she pretended to be, and that 
answered just as well. She said at even- 
ing parties, that if she could have known 
Cicero, she thought she could have died 
contented. 

As to Mr. Feeder, B. A., Dr. Blirnber 's 
assistant, ,he was a kind of a human hand- 
organ, with a little list of tunes at which 
he was continually working, over and over 
again without any variation. — Dickens. 



e. Gayety. 

The requirements for rendering Gayety 
are a very High Pitch, a Quick Movement, 
and a great Variety of Tone. There must 
be an airy lightness about all selections of 
this style ; and flexibility of the voice is 
positively necessary. 

Practice Selection 

" Wynken, Blynken, and Nod." 

By Eugene Field. 

/. Humor. 

The good rendition of Humor depends so 
much upon the quickness to perceive a good 
point and the skill to turn it to account, 
that it is dangerous to attempt it unless one 
has a keen sense of humor in his own 
nature. 

The upper tones of the voice belong par- 
ticularly to Humor, as do also sudden flights 
from a low to a high note, or from a high to 
a low note on the musical scale. These 




EXHAUSTION 



6o 



DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION 




UNCERTAINTY 

sudden nights of the voice always produce 
mirth. Lightness of touch is also essential 
to Humor. 

In the descriptive parts let your face and 
voice express your own enjoyment of the fun. 

Practice Selection 

THE LOW=BACKED CAR. 

WHEN first I saw sweet Peggy, 
'T was on a market day ; 
A low-backed car she drove, and ^at 
Upon a truss of hay ; 
But when that hay was blooming grass, 

And decked with flowers of spring, 
No flower was there that could compare 

With the blooming girl I sing. 
As she sat in the low-backed car, 
The man at the turnpike bar 
Never asked for the toll, 
But just rubbed his owld poll, 
And looked after the low-backed car. 

In battle's wild commotion, 

The proud and mighty Mars 
With hostile scythes demands his tithes 



Of death in warlike cars ; 
While Peggy, peaceful goddess, 

Has darts in her bright eye, 
That knock men down in the market town 

As right and left they fly ; 
While she sits in her low-backed car, 
Than battle more dangerous far, — 

For the doctor's art 

Cannot cure the heart, 
That is hit from that low-backed car. 

Sweet Peggy round her car, sir, 

Has strings of ducks and geese, 
But the scores of hearts she slaughters 

By far outnumber these ; 
While she among her poultry sits. 

Just like a turtledove, 
Well worth the cage, I do engage, 

Of the blooming god of Love ! 
While she sits in her low-backed car, 
The lovers come near and far, 
And envy the chicken 

That Peggy is pickin, 
As she sits in her low -backed car. 




ANXIOUS— SOLICITOUS 



DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION 



61 




MEDITATION 

O, I'd rather own that car, sir, 

With Peggy by my side, 
Than coach and four, and gold galore, 

And a lady for my bride ; 
For the lady would sit forninst me, 

On a cushion made with taste. 
While Peggy would sit beside me, 

With my arm around her waist, 
While we drove in the low-backed car, 
To be married by Father Mahar ; 

O, my heart would beat high 

At her glance and her sigh, — 
Though it beat in a low-backed car. 

Samuel Lover. 



II. 



Styles oe Reading in the Orotund 
Voice. 



The Orotund Voice is that which is used in 
all impassioned selections. The difference 
between the Orotund and the natural voice, 
is that the former is stronger, deeper and 
more resonant than the latter. 



When excited by passion of any sort, the 
voice naturally grows stronger and deeper, 
because the breathing muscles act in response 
to the brain and expell the breath more 
forcibly, thereby causing more resonance 
in the cavities of the chest and head. 

The Orotund voice is very common in ordi- 
nary life. Notice two men talking quietly 
together. They disagree about something 
and become angry What is the result? 
Instantly their voices grow louder until 
they are fairly shouting at each other. 

So, often you find a bereaved person 
shrieking to relieve his feelings. As soon 
as the pent-up emotion is expended, he 
becomes quiet and the voice sinks to its 
nsual tone. 

Three Divisions. 

The Orotund voice has three sub-divi- 
sions, Effusive, Expulsive and Explosive. 

a. Effusive Orotund. 

This is used in rendering all grand, sub- 
lime and reverential styles ; as, for instance, 




vanity 



62 



DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION 




LONGING— PLEADING 

in prayers, in Bible readings, in hymns, and 
in everything which expresses awe, despair, 
wonder, reverence and horror. 

The voice should be pitched low, and, in 
extreme horror, very low. 

The tones should flow in long, deep, and 
continuous sound from the lips. There 
must be no hurried, false, or harsh notes. 



Practice Selection 

From '♦THE LAUNCHING OF THE SHIP" 

" Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State ! 
Sail on, O Union, strong and great ! 
Humanity with all its fears, 
With all the hopes of future years, 
Is hanging breathless on thy fate ! 
We know what master laid thy keel, 
What workman wrought thy ribs of steel, 
Who made each mast, and sail and rope, 
What anvils rang, what hammers beat, 
In what a forge and what a heat, 
Were shaped the anchors of thy hope ! 



Fear not each sudden sound and shock ; 

'Tis of the wave and not the rock ; 

'Tis but the napping of the sail ; 

And not a rent made by the gale ! 

In spite of rock and tempest's roar, 

In spite of false lights on the shore, 

Sail on, nor fear to brave the sea ! 

Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee ; 

Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears 

Our faith triumphant o'er our fears, 

Are all with thee, — are all with thee ! 

— Longfellow . 

b. Expulsive Orotu?id 

This is the voice used in all oratorical 
styles, whether in prose or verse. It differs 
from the Effusive Orotund only in that 
while the voice flows continuously from the 
mouth in the latter, in the former it is gath- 
ered up into short shouts, which issue from 
the mouth in the shape of a cone with the 
apex at the lips. Breath must be taken 
after each word, though not perceptibly. 

Breathing exercises V. and VI. are good 
to develop this voice. 




SILENCE 



DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION 



&S 




SALUTATION 

Practice Selection 

" Toussaint 1/ Overture," 

By Wendell Phillips. 

c. Explosive Orotund. 

This is used in all abrupt and startling 
styles of reading, as in anger, fear, alarm, 
hurry, etc. 

It's chief characteristics are quickness of 
speech, highness of pitch, and clear, sharp, 
explosiveness of utterance. There is no 
vanish at all to the tones. They burst 
from the mouth violently, and the lips 
instantly cut off the sound, as sharply as if 
with a knife. 

In order to acquire this style, practice on 
the words stop, go, fire, halt or any other 
short words that mean a good deal, speak- 
ing them loudly, sharply, meaningly. 

Practice Selection 
' ' The Charge of the Light Brigade ' ' 

By Tennyson. 

This closes our talk on styles, and now, 
for a moment, let us turn our attention to 



the general topic of Elocution. There are 
several cautions which I have reserved 
until the last, because of their importance. 

In the first place, always speak to your 
audience, not at them, L,ook them straight 
in the eyes, except where you have several 
characters to represent^ and then look at 
them in the bits of description. There is 
nothing which will bring you into closer 
touch with your audience. 

I need not warn you against affectation. 
That goes without saying. Nothing has 
a greater charm than an easy, natural- 
manner. 

Professor Cummock used to give us an 
exercise for daily practice. It was : — 
Two minutes deep breathing. 
" " reading. 

" shouting. 

" " common reading. 

Four " oratory. 

This is very good for the voice and will 
do wonders in a short time. 

Remember that the great thing in every 
selection is to bring out the meaning. 




BECKONING or SUMMONING 



o 4 



DELSARTE TRAINING AND ELOCUTION 




SAUC1NESS— DON'T CARE 



In closing, let me remark that all I have 
said heretofore, will count as nothing, if 
you do not possess the key which unlocks 
all hearts, — feeling ! 



Remarks by the Editor 

In common with the highest authorites on 
elocution and oratory, Miss Pogle believes 
and teaches that no two persons would ex- 
press the same emotion by the same gesticu- 
lation, any more than they would do so in 
the same words. Therefore, the attitudes 
shown in the preceding pages should be 
taken merely as suggestions for the expres- 
sion of the sentiments or emotions indicated. 

It is impossible to harness the expression 
of passion to a schedule. 

And yet gesticulation can and should be 
cultivated by the proper training of the 
body and muscles, under the foregoing 
rules, to act in natural and graceful har- 
mony with the mind. The arms and the body 
may be made to talk quite as naturally and 
oft times far more eloquently, than the voice. 



The writer will never forget an instance 
of the power of gesticulating which came 
under his own observation. The distin- 
guished lawyer and senator, Daniel W.Voor- 
hees, was defending a man tried for murder 
in a Kentucky court. After giving the prose- 
cuting witness an unmerciful flaying, he 
closed his address with the sentence : ' ' His 
path lies downward." That may seem to 
the reader rather a feeble climax, but as the 
orator uttered these four words, with a deep 
thrilling tone that reverberated through the 
court room like a clarion note, he gradually 
raised his right arm, palm downward, from 
his hip to above the level of his head. His 
eyes were fixed upon the floor, and the feel- 
ing that he was staring into some profound, 
unmeasurable abyss was flashed like magic 
into the brain of every one present. The 
effect was tremendous. There was no par- 
ticular reason why such a gesture should 
have expressed depth, but it did. It was 
the soul of the orator in the gesture ; and, 
after all, that is the true genius of gesticu- 
lation. 




MIMICRY 



PART III 

PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



^T^his department has for its object the introduction of such selections as contain 
sentiments calculated to inspire and foster patriotism of that true character which 
is the foundation of good citizenship from a new world standpoint. For this reason 
the extracts are mainly American in character. 

Self-love is in alliance with the principle which endears home, kindred and native 
land to every human heart, and the love of a child for his home, parents, brothers and 
sisters should find its counterpart in the love of the man for his country and illus- 
trious countrymen. 

It is not possible or intended, however, in this department to do more than intro- 
duce representative selections, varied in character, suitable for recitation and enter- 
tainment, and in a general way calculated to inspire and foster in youthful hearts the 
love of country. 



THE LOVE OF COUNTRY. 

BREATHES there a man with soul so dead, 
Who never to himself hath said, 
" This is my own, my native land ?" 
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, 
As home his footsteps he hath turned, 
From wandering on a foreign shore ? 
If such there breathe, go, mark him well 
For him no minstrel raptures swell ! 
High though his titles, proud his name, 
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ; 
Despite those titles, power, and pelf, 
The wretch, concentred all in self 
Iyiving, shall forfeit fair renown, 
And, doubly dying, shall go down 
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, 
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung. 

Sir Walter Scott. 



DEVOTION TO PATRIOTIC DUTY. 

Young men of America ! You on 
whom rests the future of the Repub- 
lic ! You, who are to become not 



only our citizens but our lawmakers : Re- 
member your responsibilities, and, remem- 
bering, prepare for them. 

As the great universe is order and har- 
mony only through the perfection of its 
laws, so in life and human government, the 
happiness and prosperity of a people depend 
on the orderly subservience of act and 
thought to the good of the whole. 

Be great, therefore, in small things. If 
it is your ambition to be a citizen rever- 
enced for his virtues, remember that nothing 
is more admirable than devotion to duty, 
and the more admirable as that duty leads 
to self-sacrifice in others' behalf. 

In whatever position in life you are 
placed be true to the trust reposed in you ; 
then the Republic is safe. Go forth, with a 
heart glowing, not with the fires of a lordly 
ambition, to ride to power over opposition 
and against the wishes of your fellow-men , 
but with the flame of an honest purpose to 
be a good citizen and an ornament to the 
state that gave you birth. Then indeed, 
shall you be great. D.N. Shelley. 



65 



66 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



M 



AMERICA. 

y country, 'tis of thee, 
Sweet land of liberty, 
Of thee I sing ; 
Land where my fathers died, 
Land of the pilgrims' pride, 
From every mountain -side 
Let freedom ring. 

My native country, thee, 
Land of the noble free, 

Thy name I love ; 
I love thy rocks and rills, 
Thy woods and templed hills ; 
My heart with rapture thrills 

Like that above. 

Let music swell the breeze, 
And ring from all the trees 

Sweet freedom's song ; 
Let mortal tongues awake, 
Let all that breathe partake, 
Let rocks their silence break, 

The sound prolong. ■ 

Our fathers' God, to Thee, 
Author of liberty, 

To Thee we sing ; 
Long may our land be bright 
With freedom's holy light : 
Protect us by Thy might, 

Great God, our King. 

Samuel Francis Smith. 



TRUE PATRIOTISM IS UNSELFISH. 

Right and wrong, justice and crime, 
exist independently of our country. 
A public wrong is not a private right 
for any citizen . The citizen is a man bound 
to know and do the right, and the nation is 
but an aggregation of citizens. If a man 
should shout, "My country, by whatever 
means extended and bounded ; my country, 
right or wrong ! " he merely repeats the 
words of the thief who steals in the street, 
or of the trader w T ho swears falsely at the 
customhouse, both of them chuckling, 
" My fortune ; however acquired." 

Thus, gentlemen, we see that a man's 
country is not a certain area of land— of 
mountains, rivers and woods — but it is 
principle ; and patriotism is loyalty to that 
principle. 



In poetic minds and in popular enthusi- 
asm, this feeling becomes closely associated 
with the soil and symbols of the country. 
But the secret sanctification of the soil and 
the symbol, is the idea which they repre- 
sent ; and this idea, the patriot worships, 
through the name and the symbol, as a 
lover kisses with rapture the glove of his 
mistress and wears a lock of her hair upon 
his heart. 

So, with passionate heroism, of which 
tradition is never weary of tenderly telling, 
Arnold von Winkelried gathers into his 
bosom the sheaf of foreign spears, that his 
death may give life to his country. So 
Nathan Hale, disdaining no service that his 
country demands, perishes untimely, with 
no other friend than God and the satisfied 
sense of duty. So George Washington, at 
once comprehending the scope of the destiny 
to which his country was devoted, with one 
hand puts aside the crown, and with the 
other sets his slaves free. So, through all 
history from the beginning, a noble army 
of martyrs has fought fiercely and fallen 
bravely for that unseen mistress, their 
country. So, through all history to the 
end, as long as men believe in God, that 
army must still march and fight and fall, — 
recruited only from the flower of mankind, 
cheered only by their own hope of humanity, 
strong only in their confidence in their 
cause. Gkorgk William Curtis. 



patriotism assures public faith. 

To expatiate on the value of public faith, 
may pass, with some men, for decla- 
mation ; to such men I have nothing 
to say. To others I will urge, can any 
circumstance mark upon a people more 
turpitude and debasement, than the want of 
it ? Can anything tend more to make men 
think themselves mean, or degrade to a 
lower point their estimation of virtue, than 
such a standard of action ? 

It would not merely demoralize mankind ; 
it tends to break all the ligaments of society, 
to dissolve that mysterious charm which 
attracts individuals to the nation, and to 
inspire, in its stead, a repulsive sense of 
shame and disgust. 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



6 7 



What is patriotism ? Is it a narrow 
affection for the spot where a man was 
born ? Are the very clods where we tread 
entitled to this ardent preference because 
they are greener? No, sir, this is not the 
character of the virtue ; and it soars higher 
for its object. It is an extended self-love, 
mingling with all the enjoyments of life and 
twisting itself with the minutest filaments 
of the heart. It is thus we obey the laws 
of society, because they are the laws of 
virtue. In their authority we see, not 
the array of force and terror, but the vener- 
able image of our country's honor. Every 
good citizen makes that honor his own, 
and cherishes it not only as precious, 
but as sacred. He is willing to risk 
his life in its defence, and is conscious 
that he gains protection while he gives 
it. For what rights of a citizen will be 
deemed inviolable, when a state renounces 
the principles that constitute their security ? 
Or if his life should not be invaded, what 
would its enjoyments be, in a country 
odious in the eyes of strangers and dishon- 
ored in his own ? Could he look with affec- 
tion and veneration to such a country, as 
his parent ? The sense of having one would 
die within him ; he would blush for his 
patriotism, if he retained any, and justly, 
for it would be a vice. He would be a 
banished man in his native land. 

I see no exception to the respect that is 
paid among nations to the law of good 
faith. If there are cases in this enlightened 
period, when it is violated, there are none 
when it is decried. It is observed by bar- 
barians ; a whiff of tobacco-smoke, or a 
string of beads, gives not merely binding 
force, but sanctity, to treaties. Even in 
Algiers, a truce may be bought for money ; 
but when ratified, even Algiers is too wise, 
or too just, to disown and annul its obliga- 
tion. Thus we see, neither the ignorance of 
savages, nor the principles of an association 
for piracy and rapine, permit a nation to 
despise its engagements. If, sir, there 
conld be a resurrection from the foot of the 
gallows, if the victims of justice could live 
again, collect together, and form a society, 
they would, however loath, soon find 
themselves obliged to make justice, that 
justice under which they fell, the funda- 



mental law of their state. They would per- 
ceive it was their interest to make others 
respect, and they would therefore soon pay 
some respect themselves to the obligations 
of good faith. 

It is painful, I hope it is superfluous, to 
make even the supposition that America 
should furnish the occasion of this oppro- 
brium. No, let me not even imagine that a 
republican government sprung, as our own 
is, from a people enlightened and uncor- 
rupted, a government whose origin is right, 
and whose daily discipline is duty, can, 
upon solemn debate, make its option to be 
faithless, can dare to act what despots dare 
not avow, what our own example evinces 
the states of Barbary are unsuspected of. 
No ; let me rather make the supposition 
that Great Britain refuses to execute the 
treaty after we have done everything to 
carry it into effect. Is there any language 
of reproach pungent enough to express your 
commentary on the fact ? What would you 
say, or rather what would you not say? 
Would you not tell them, wherever an Eng- 
lishman might travel, shame would stick to 
him, he would disown his country ? You 
would exclaim, England, proud of your 
wealth and arrogant in the possession of 
power, blush for these distinctions, which 
become the vehicles of your dishonor. Such 
a nation might truly say to corruption, 
Thou art my father, and to the worm, Thou 
art my mother and my sister. We should 
say of such a race of men, their name is a 
heavier burden than their debt. 

Fisher Ames. 



PATRIOTIsn INCULCATES PUBLIC VIRTUE. 

THERE is a sort of courage to which — I 
frankly confess it — I do not lay claim; 
a boldness to which I dare not aspire; 
a valor which I cannot covet. I cannot 
lay myself down in the way of the welfare 
and happiness of my country. That, I can- 
not, I have not the courage to do. I cannot 
interpose the power with which I may be 
invested — a power conferred, not for my 
personal benefit or aggrandizement, but for 
my country's good — to check her onward 
march to greatness and glory. I have not 
courage enough ; I am too cowardly for that J 



68 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



I would not, I dare not, lie down and 
place my body across the path that leads 
my country to prosperity and happiness. 
This is a sort of courage widely different 
from that which a man may display in his 
private conduct and personal relations. 
Personal or private courage is totally dis- 
tinct from that higher and nobler courage 
which prompts the patriot to offer himself 
a voluntary sacrifice to his country's good. 

Apprehensions of the imputation of the 
want of firmness sometimes impel us to 
perform rash and inconsiderate acts. It is 
the greatest courage to be able to bear the 
imputation of the want of courage. But 
pride, vanity, egotism, so unamiable and 
offensive in private life, are vices which 
partake of the character of crimes, in the 
conduct of public affairs. The unfortunate 
victim of these passions cannot see beyond 
the little, petty, contemptible circle of his 
own personal interests. All his thoughts 
are withdrawn from his country and con- 
centrated on his consistency, his firmness, 
himself ! 

The high, the exalted, the sublime emo- 
tions of a patriotism which, soaring towards 
heaven, rises far above all mean, low, or 
selfish things, and is absorbed by one soul- 
transporting thought of the good and glory 
of one's country, are never felt in his impene- 
trable bosom. That patriotism which, 
catching its inspiration from on high, and 
leaving at an immeasurable distance below 
all lesser, grovelling, personal interests and 
feelings, animates and prompts to deeds of 
self-sacrifice, of valor, of devotion, and of 
death itself, — that is public virtue ; that is 
the noblest, the sublimest of all public vir- 
tues ! Henry Clay. 



PATRIOTISM BROAD AS HUHANITY. 

IT is the opinion of many, that self-love 
is the grand impelling spring in the 
human machine. This sentiment is 
either utterly false, or the principle, as dis- 
tinguished in some actions, becomes so 
exceedingly refined, as to merit a more 
engaging name. If the man who weeps in 
secret for the miseries of others and pri- 
vately tenders relief, who sacrifices ease, 
property, health, and even life, to save his 



country, be actuated by self-love, it is a 
principle only inferior to that which 
prompted the Saviour of the world to die 
for man, and is but another name for per- 
fect disinterestedness. 

Patriotism, whether we reflect upon the 
benevolence which gives it birth, the mag- 
nitude of its object, the happy effect which 
it produces, or the height to which it exalts 
human character, by the glorious action of 
which it is the cause, must be considered 
as the noblest of all the social virtues. 
The patriot is influenced by love for his 
fellow-men and an ardent desire to preserve 
sacred and inviolate their natural rights. 
His philanthropic views, not confined to 
the small circle of his private friends, are 
so extensive, as to embrace the liberty and 
happiness of a whole nation. That he may 
be instrumental, under heaven, to maintain 
and secure these invaluable blessings to his 
country, he devotes his wealth, his fame, 
his life, his all. Glorious sacrifice ! What 
more noble ! 

To the honor of humanity, the histories 
of almost every age and nation are replete 
with examples of this elevated character. 
Every period of the world has afforded its 
heroes and its patriots ; men who could 
soar above the narrow views and grovelling 
principles which actuate so great a part of 
the human species, and drown every selfish 
consideration in the love of their country. 
But we need not advert to the annals of 
other ages and nations, as the history of 
our own country points with so much 
pleasure, veneration, and gratitude to the 
illustrious Washington. Before him the 
heroes of antiquity, shorn of their beams, 
like stars before the rising sun, hide their 
heads with shame. Uniting in his char- 
acter the enterprising spirit of Hannibal, 
the prudent wisdom of Fabius, the disin- 
terestedness of Cincinnatus, and the mili- 
tary talents of the Scipios, he could not 
fail to succeed in the glorious undertaking 
of giving liberty and happiness to a people 
who dared to be free. Whilst he lived, he 
proved a rich blessing to his country, a 
bright example to the dawning patriotism 
of the Old World, the terror of despotism, 
and the delight and admiration of all man- 
kind. Increase Cook. (1796.) 



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THE SOLDIER'S PROPOSAL 

Tableau, " Love and Patriotism " 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



7i 



HEROIC EXAMPLE HAS POWER. 

WE must not forget the specific and 
invaluable influence exerted on the 
spirit of a people by those examples 
of signal heroism and chivalrous devotion 
for which a magnanimous war gives occa- 
sion, and which it exalts, as peace cannot, 
before men's minds. 

Almost five centuries ago, under the 
tumbling walls of Sempach, where Leopold 
stood with four thousand Austrians to crush 
the fourteen hundred Swiss who dared to 
confront him, one, springing upon the foe 
with wide-spread arms, gathered into his 
breast a sheaf of spears, and made a way 
above his body for that triumphant valor 
which pierced and broke the horrio. ranks, 
and set a new and bloody seal to the right- 
ful autonomy of the mountain republic. 
The hardy Switzers will not forget the 
daring deed and magic name of Arnold 
von Winkelried ! 

Before Herodotus wrote his history, be- 
fore Nehemiah rebuilt Jerusalem, before 
Cincinnatus was dictator at Rome, under 
the shadow of Mount "iEtna, a thousand 
men, Spartans and Thespians, fell, to a 
man, unwilling to retreat before the in- 
vader. It is not even irreverent to say, 
that, save one cross, beneath which Earth 
herself did shiver, no other hath lifted its 
head so high, or flung its arms so wide 
abroad to scatter inspiring influence, as did 
that cross on which the Persian nailed, in 
fury, the dead L,eonidas ! * * * 

Such examples as these become powers 
in civilization. History hurries from the 
drier details, and is touched with enthusi- 
asm as she draws near to them. Eloquence 
delights to rehearse and impress them ! 
The songs of a nation repeat their story, 
and make their triumph sound again 
through the silver cymbals of speech, 
legends prolong and art commemorates 
them. Language itself takes new images 
from them ; and words, that are themselves 
"half battles," are suddenly born at their 
recital. The very household life is exalted ; 
and the humblest feels his position higher, 
and expresses his sense of it in a more 
dauntless bearing, as he sees that heroism 
still lives in the world ; that men of his 
own race and stuff, perhaps of his own 



neighborhood, even, have faced, so calmly, 
such vast perils. 

Richard Salter Storrs, Jr. (1863.) 



INTERNATIONAL SYMPATHIES ON THE 
INCREASE. 

IN many respects, the nations of Chris- 
tendom, collectively, are becoming 
somewhat analogous to our own Fed- 
eral republic. Antiquated distinctions are 
breaking away, and local animosities are 
subsiding. The common people of differ- 
ent countries are knowing each other better, 
esteeming each other more, and attaching 
themselves to each other, by various mani- 
festations of reciprocal good will. It is 
true, every nation has still its separate 
boundaries and its individual interests ; 
but the freedom of commercial intercourse 
is allowing those interests to adjust them- 
selves to each other, and thus rendering 
the causes of collision of vastly less frequent 
occurrence. Local questions are becoming 
of less, and general questions of greater, 
importance. Thanks be to God, men have 
at last begun to understand the rights, and 
feel for the wrongs, of each other ! Moun- 
tains interposed, do not so much make 
enemies of nations. Let the trumpet of 
alarm be sounded, and its notes are now 
heard by every nation, whether of Europe 
or America. Let a voice borne on the 
feeblest breeze tell that the rights of man 
are in danger, and it floats over valley and 
mountain, across continent and ocean, until 
it has vibrated on the ear of the remotest 
dweller in Christendom. L,et the arm of 
Oppression be raised to crush the feeblest 
nation on earth, and there will be heard 
everywhere, if not the shout of defiance, at 
least the deep-toned murmur of implacable 
displeasure. It is the cry of aggrieved, 
insulted, much-abused man. It is human 
nature waking in her might from the slum- 
ber of ages, shaking herself from the dust 
of antiquated institutions, girding herself 
for the combat, and going forth conquering 
and to conquer ; and woe unto the man, 
woe unto the dynasty, woe unto the party, 
and woe unto the policy, on whom shall 
fall the scath of her blighting indignation ! 
Francis Wayland. 



7 2 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



COLUMBIA, THE LAND OF THE BRAVE. 

O Columbia, the gem of the ocean, 
The home of the brave and the free, 
The shrine of each patriot's devotion, 
A world offers homage to thee. 
Thy mandates make heroes assemble, 
When liberty's form stands in view, 
Thy banners make tyranny tremble, 

When borne by the Red, White and Blue. 

Chorus: 
When borne by the Red, White and Blue, 
When borne by the Red, White and Blue, 
Thy banners make tyranny tremble, 
When borne by the Red, White and Blue. 

When war winged its wide desolation, 

And threatened the land to deform, 
The ark then of freedom's foundation, 

Columbia, rode safe through the storm, 
With the garlands of victory around her, 

When so proudly she bore her brave crew, 
With her flag proudly floating before her, 

The boast of the Red, White, and Blue. 

Chorus. 
The wine-cup, the wine-cup bring hither, 

And fill you it true to the brim. 
May the wreaths they have won never wither, 

Nor the stars of their glory grow dim. 
May the service united ne'er sever, 

But they to their colors prove true ! 
The Army and Navy forever ! 

Three cheers for the Red, White, and Blue ! 
David T. Shaw. 



HAIL, COLUMBIA, HAPPY LAND. 

Hail, Columbia, happy land ! 
Hail, ye heroes, heaven -born band, 
Who fought and bled in freedom's 
cause, 
Who fought and bled in freedom's cause, 
And, when the storm of war was gone, 
Enjoyed the peace your valor won : 
Let independence be your boast ; 
Ever mindful what it cost, 
Ever grateful for the prize, 
Let its altars reach the skies. 

Chorus : 
Firm, united, let us be, 
Rallying round our liberty, 
As a band of brothers joined, 
Peace and safety we shall find. 



Immortal patriots ! rise once more ! 
Defend your rights, defend your shore ; 
Let no rude foe, with impious hands, 
Let no rude foe, with impious hands, 
Invade the shrine where sacred lies r 
Of toil and blood the well-earned prize ; 
While offering peace, sincere and just, 
In Heaven we place a manly trust, 
That truth and justice may prevail, 
And every scheme of bondage fail. — Chorus. 

Sound, sound the trump of fame ! 

Let Washington's great name 

Ring through the world with loud applause ! 

Ring through the world with loud applause ! 

Let every clime to freedom dear 

Listen with a joyful ear ; 

With equal skill, with steady power, 

He governs in the fearful hour 

Of horrid war, or guides with ease 

The happier time of honest peace. — Chorus. 

Behold the chief who now commands, 
Once more to serve his country stands, 
The rock on which the storm will beat, 
The rock on which the storm will beat. 
But, armed in virtue, firm and true, 
His hopes are fixed on Heaven and you ; 
When hope was sinking in dismay, 
When gloom obscured Columbia's day, 
His steady mind, from changes free, 
Resolved on death or Liberty. — Chorus. 
Joseph Hopkinson. 



ON TAXING AMERICA. 

My Lords, you have no right to tax 
America. I have searched the mat- 
ter ; — I repeat it, you have no right 
to tax America. 

The natural rights of man and the immu- 
table laws of nature are all with that people. 
Much stress is laid upon the supreme legis- 
lative authority of Great Britain, and so far 
as the doctrine is directed to its proper 
object I accede to it. But it is equally 
true, according to all approved writers 
upon government, that no man, agreeably 
to the principles of natural or civil liberty, 
can be divested of any part of his property 
without his consent. 

But some gentlemen tell us, seriously, 
that administration must reduce the Ameri- 
cans to obedience and submission ; that is, 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



73 



you must make them absolute and infamous 
slaves, and then — what ? — we will, say they, 
give them full liberty. Ay, is this the 
nature of man i No, my lords ; I would 
not trust myself, American as I am, in this 
situation. I do not think I should, in that 
case, be myself for giving them their liberty. 
No ; if they submitted to uch unjust, such 
cruel, such degrading slavery, I should 
think they were made for slaves, that ser- 
vility was suited to their nature and genius. 
I should think they would best serve this 
country as our slaves — that their servility 
would be for the benefit of Great Britain ; 
and I should be for keeping such Cappado- 
cians in a state of servitude, such as was 
suited to their constitution, and such as 
might redound much to our advantage. 

My lords, some noble lords talk much of 
resistance to acts of Parliament. King, 
lords, and commons, are fine-sounding 
names; but, my lords, acts of Parliament 
have been resisted in all ages. King, lords, 
and commons, may become tyrants as well 
as others. Tyranny in one or more is the 
same ; it is as lawful to resist the tyranny 
of many as of one. Somebody once asked 
the great Mr. Selden in wdiat law-book, in 
what records, or archives of state, you 
might find the law for resisting tyranny. 
" I don't know," said Mr. Selden, "whether 
it is worth your while to look deeply into 
the books upon this matter; but I'll tell 
you what is most certain, that it has always 
been the ' custom of England, ' and the ' cus- 
tom of England ' is the law of the land." 

lend, my lords, as I began; you have 
no right to tax America ; — the natural 
rights of man, and the immutable laws of 
nature, are all with that people. 

Lord Camden (Jan. 20, 1775). 



RESISTANCE TO BRITISH AGGRESSION. 

The Virginia Convention having before them resolutions of a 
temporizing character towards Great Britain, March 23, 1775, 
Mr. Henry introduced counter resolutions which he supported in 
the following memorable speech. When Mr. Henry took his 
seat, at its close, "no murmur of applause was heard. The 
impression was too deep. After the trance of a moment, the cry 
to arms ! seemed to quiver on every lip, and gleam from every eye. 
Their souls were on fire for action." 

Mr. President, it is natural to man to 
indulge in the illusions of Hope. 
We are apt to shut our eyes against 
a painful truth, and listen to the song of 



that siren, till she transtorms us into beasts. 
Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a 
great and arduous struggle for liberty ? Are 
we disposed to be of the number of those 
who, having eyes, see not, and having ears, 
hear not, the things which so nearly con- 
cern our temporal salvation ? For my part, 
whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I 
am willing to know the whole truth, — to 
know the worst, and to provide for it ! 

I have but one lamp, by which my feet 
are guided ; and that is the lamp of ex- 
perience. I know of no way of judging 
of the future but by the past. And, judg- 
ing by the past, I wish to know what there 
has been in the conduct of the British min- 
istry, ior the last ten years, to justify those 
hopes with which gentlemen have been 
pleased to solace themselves and the 
House? Is it that insidious smile with, 
which our petition has been lately received ? 
Trust it not, sir ; it will prove a snare to 
your feet ! Suffer not yourselves to be 
betrayed with a kiss ! Ask yourselves how 
this gracious reception of our petition com- 
ports with those warlike preparations which 
cover our waters and darken our land. Are 
fleets and armies necessary to a work of 
love and reconciliation? Have we shown 
ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled, 
that force must be called in to win back 
our love ? 

Eet us not deceive ourselves, sir. These 
are the implements of war and subjuga- 
tion, — the last arguments to which Kings 
resort. I ask gentlemen, sir, what means 
this martial array, if its purpose be not to 
force us to submission ? Can gentlemen 
assign any other possible motive for it ? 
Has Great Britain any enemy in this 
quarter of the world, to call for all this 
accumulation of navies and armies? No, 
sir, she has none. They are meant for us ; 
they can be meant for no other. They are 
sent over to bind and rivet upon us those 
chains which the British ministry have been 
so long forging. And what have we to 
oppose to them ? — Shall we try argument ? 
Sir, we have been trying that, for the last 
ten years. Have we anything new to offer 
upon the subject? Nothing. We have 
held the subject up in every light of which 
it is capable ; but it has been all in vain. 



74 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



Shall we resort to entreaty and humble 
supplication? What terms shall we find 
which have not already been exhausted ? 
Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive our- 
selves longer. Sir, we have done every- 
thing that could be done, to avert the storm 
which is now coming on. We have peti- 
tioned, we have remonstrated, we have 
supplicated, we have prostrated ourselves 
before the Throne, and have implored its 
interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands 
of the Ministry and Parliament. Our peti- 
tions have been slighted, our remonstrances 
have produced additional violence and in- 
sult, our supplications have been dis- 
regarded, and we have been spurned, with 
contempt, from the foot of the Throne. 

In vain, after these things, may we in- 
dulge the fond hope of peace and recon- 
ciliation. There is no longer any room for 
hope. If we wish to be free, — if we mean to 
preserve inviolate those inestimable privi- 
leges for which we have been so long con- 
tending, — if we mean not basely to abandon 
the noble struggle in which we have been 
so long engaged, and which we have 
pledged ourselves never to abandon until 
the glorious object of our contest shall be 
obtained, — we must fight ; I repeat it, sir, 
we must fight ! An appeal to arms, and to 
the God of Hosts, is all that is left us ! 



THE WAR INEVITABLE, March, 1775. 

Thev tell us, sir, that we are weak, — 
unable to cope with so formidable an 
adversary. But when shall we be 
stronger ? Will it be the next week, or the 
next year ? Will it be when we are totally 
disarmed, and when a British guard shall 
be stationed in every house? Shall we 
gather strength by irresolution and in- 
action? Shall we acquire the means of 
effectual resistance by lying supinely on our 
backs, and hugging the delusive phantom 
of hope, until our enemies shall have bound 
us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak, 
if we make a proper use of those means 
which the God of nature hath placed in our 
power. 

Three millions of people, armed in the 
holy cause of liberty, and in such a country 
as that which we possess, are invincible by 



any force which our enemy can send against 
us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our 
battles alone. There is a just God who 
presides over the destinies of nations, and 
who will raise up friends to fight our battles 
for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong 
alone ; it is to the vigilant, the active, the 
brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. 
If we were base enough to desire it, it is 
now too late to retire from the contest. 
There is no retreat but in submission and 
slavery ! Our chains are forged ! Their 
clanking may be heard on the plains of 
Boston ! The war is inevitable; and let it 
come ! I repeat it, sir, let it come ! 

It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. 
Gentlemen may cry, peace, peace ! — but 
there is no peace. The war is actually 
begun ! The next gale that sweeps from 
the North will bring to our ears the clash 
of resounding arms ! Our brethren are 
already in the field ! Why stand we here 
idle ? What is it that gentlemen wish ? 
What would they have ? Is life so dear, or 
peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the 
price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, 
Almighty God ! I know not what course 
others may take ; but as for me, give me 
liberty, or give me death ! Patrick Henry. 



A REVOLUTIONARY SERMON. 

Preached on the eve of the battle of Brandywine, Septem- 
ber 10, "777, in the presence of Washington and his army, at 
Chadd's Ford. 

Soldiers and countrymen : We have met 
this evening perhaps for the last time. 
We have shared the toil of the march, 
the peril of the fight, the dismay of the 
retreat ; alike we have endured toil and 
hunger, the contumely of the internal foe, 
the outrage of the foreign oppressor. We 
have sat night after night beside the same 
camp-fire, shared the same rough soldier's 
fare ; we have together heard the roll of the 
reveille which called us to duty, or the beat 
of the tattoo which gave the signal for the 
hardy sleep of the soldier, with the earth 
for his bed, and a knapsack for his pillow. 

And now, soldiers and brethren, we have 
met in this peaceful valley, on the eve of 
battle, while the sunlight is dying away 
beyond yonder heights, the sunlight that 
to-morrow morn will glimmer on scenes 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



75 



of blood. We have met amid the whiten- 
ing tents of our encampment ; in times of 
terror and gloom have we gathered together 
— God grant it may not be for the last time ! 
It is a solemn time. It was but a day since 
our land slept in the light of peace. War 
was not here, wrong was not here. Fraud, and 
woe, and misery, and want, dwelt not among 
us. From the eternal solitude of the green 
woods, arose the blue smoke of the settler's 
cabin, and golden fields of corn peered forth 
from amid the waste of the wilderness, and 
the glad music of human voices awoke the 
silence of the forest. Now, God of mercy, 
behold the change ! Under the shadow of a 
pretext, under the sanctity of the name of 
God, invoking the Redeemer to their aid, 
do these foreign hirelings slay our people ! 
They throng our towns, they darken our 
plains, and now they encompass our posts 
on the lonely plain of Chadd's Ford. 

" They that take the sword shall perish by the sword." 

Brethren, think me not unworthy of 
belief when I tell you that the doom of 
the Britisher is near ! Think me not vain 
when I tell you that beyond that cloud that 
now enshrouds us, I see gathering, thick 
and fast, the darker cloud and the blacker 
storm of a Divine retribution ! They may 
conquer us to-morrow ! Might and wrong 
may prevail, and we may be driven from 
this field, but the hour of God's own ven- 
geance will come ! 

Aye, if in the vast solitudes of eternal 
space, if in the heart of the boundless uni- 
verse, there throbs the being of an awful 
God, quick to avenge, and sure to punish 
guilt, then will the man, George of Bruns- 
wick, called King, feel in his brain and in 
his heart, the vengeance of the Eternal 
Jehovah ! A blight will be upon his life, — 
a withered brain, an accursed intellect; a 
blight will be upon his children, and on his 
people. Great God ! how dread the pun- 
ishment ! 

A crowded populace, peopling the dense 
towns where the man of money thrives, 
while the laborer starves ; want striding 
among the people in all his forms of terror ; 
an ignorant and God-defying priesthood, 
chuckling over the miseries of millions ; a 
proud and merciless nobility , adding wrong 



to wrong, and heaping insult upon robbery 
and fraud ; royalty corrupt to the very 
heart, aristocracy rotten to the core ; crime 
and want linked hand in hand, and tempt- 
ing men to deeds of woe and death, — these 
are a part of the doom and retribution that 
shall come upon the English throne and 
people. Soldiers, I look around among 
your familiar faces with a strange interest ! 
To-morrow morning we will all go forth 
to battle — for need I tell you that your 
unworthy minister will go with you, invok- 
ing God's aid in the fight ? We will march 
forth to battle. Need I exhort you to fight 
— to fight for your homesteads, for your 
wives and your children ? My friends, I 
might urge you to fight by the galling 
memories of British wrong ! Walton, I 
might tell you of your father, butchered in 
the silence of midnight, on the plains of 
Trenton; I might picture his gray hairs, 
dabbled in blood ; I might ring his death 
shriek in your ears. Shelmire, I might tell 
you of a mother butchered, and a sister out- 
raged ; the lonely farm-house, the night 
assault, the roof in flames, the shouts of the 
troopers as they despatched their victims, 
the cries for mercy, the pleadings of inno- 
cence for pity. 

I might paint this all again, in the terri- 
ble colors of vivid reality, if I thought vour 
courage needed such wild excitement. But 
I know you are strong in the might of the 
Lord. You will go forth to battle to-mor- 
row with light hearts and determined spirits, 
though the solemn duty, the duty of aveng- 
ing the dead, may rest heavy on your souls. 
And in tbe hour of battle when all around 
is darkness, lit by the lurid cannon-glare 
and the piercing musket-flash, when the 
wounded strew the ground, and the dead 
litter your path, remember, soldiers, that 
God is with you. The Eternal God fights 
for you ; He rides on the battle cloud, He 
sweeps onward with the march of the hur- 
ricane charge. The Awful and the Infinite 
fights for you, and you will triumph. 

" They that take the sword shall perish by the sword." 

You have taken the sword, but not in the 
spirit of wrong and ravage. You have taken 
the sword for your homes, for your wives, 
for vour little ones. You have taken the 



7 6 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



sword for truth, for justice and right, and 
to you the promise is, be of good cheer ; for 
your foes have taken the sword, in defiance 
of all that man holds dear, in blasphemy of 
God ; they shall perish by the sword. 

And now, brethren and soldiers, Ibid you 
all farewell. Many of us may fall in the 
fight of to-morrow, — God rest the souls of 
the fallen ! — many of us may live to tell the 
story of the fight of to-morrow, and in the 
memory of all , will ever rest and linger the 
quiet scene of this autumnal night. When 
we meet again, may the long shadows of 
twilight be flung over a peaceful land. 

God in heaven grant it ! 

Hugh Henry Breckenridge. 



THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER. 

OH, say, can you see, by the dawn's early 
light, 
What so proudly we hailed at the 
twilight's last gleaming? 
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, 
through the perilous fight, 
O'er the ramparts we watched, were so 
gallantly streaming ? 
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs 

bursting in air, 
Gave proof through the night that our flag 

was still there : 
Oh, say, does that star-spangled banner yet 

wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of 
the brave ? 

On the shore, dimly seen through the mists 

of the deep, 
Where the foe's haughty host in dread 

silence reposes, 
What is that which the breeze, o'er the 

towering steep, 
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half 

discloses ? 
New it catches the gleam ol the morning's 

first beam ; 
In full glory reflected, now shines on the 

stream : 
'Tis the star-spangled banner ; oh, long 

may it wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of 

the brave ! 



And where is the band who so vauntingly 

swore, 
'Mid the havoc of war and the battle's 

confusion, 
A home and a country they'd leave us no 

more ? 
Their blood hath washed out their foul 

footsteps' pollution : 
No refuge could save the hireling and slave 
From the terror of flight, or the glome of 

the grave ; 
And the star-spangled banner in triumph 

doth wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of 

the brave. 

Oh, thus be it ever, when freemen shall 

stand 
Between their loved home and the war's 

desolation ! 
Blest with victory and peace, may the' 

Heaven- rescued land 
Praise the Power that hath made and 

preserved us a nation. 
Then conquer we must, for our cause it is 

just; 
And this be our motto, "In God is our 

trust;" 
And the star-spangled banner in triumph 

shall wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of 

the brave. 

Francis Scott Key, 



THE SPIRIT OF THE AGE ADVERSE 
TO WAR. 

'ar will yet cease from the whole 
earth, for God himself has said it 
shall. As an infidel I might doubt 
this, but as a Christian I cannot. If God 
has taught anything in the Bible, he has 
taught peace ; if he has promised anything 
there, he has promised peace, ultimate 
peace, to the whole world ; and unless the 
night of a godless scepticism should settle 
on my soul, I must believe on, and hope on, 
and work on, until the nations, from pole 
to pole, shall beat their swords into plough- 
shares, their spears into pruning-hooks, 
and learn war no more. I see, or think I 
see, the dawn of that coming day ! I see 
it in the new and better spirit of the age ! 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



11 



I see it in the press, the pulpit, and the 
school ! I see it in every factory, and steam- 
ship, and rail -car ! I see it in every enter- 
prise of Christian benevolence and reform ! 
I see it in all the means of general improve- 
ment, in all the good influences of tne age, 
now at work over the whole earth ! Yes, 
there is a spirit abroad that can never rest 
until the war-demon is hunted from the 
habitations of men, — the spirit that is now 
pushing its enterprises and improvements 
in every direction ; the spirit that is unfurl- 
ing the white flag of commerce on every 
sea and bartering its commodities in every 
port ; the spirit that is laying every power 
of nature, as well as the utmost resources of 
human ingenuity, under the largest con- 
tributions possible for the general welfare 
of mankind ; the spirit that hunts out from 
your cities' darkest alleys the outcasts of 
poverty and crime, for relief and reform, — 
nay, goes down into the barred and bolted 
dungeons of penal vengeance and brings 
up its callous, haggard victims into the 
sunlight of a love that pities even while it 
smites ; the spirit that is everywhere rear- 
ing hospitals for the sick, retreats for the 
insane, and schools that all but teach the 
dumb to speak, the deaf to hear, and 
the blind to see ; the spirit that harnesses 
the fire-horse in his iron gear, and sends 
him, panting with hot but unwearied 
breath, across empires, and continents, 
and seas ; the spirit that catches the very 
lightning of heaven and makes it bear 
messages, swift almost as thought, from 
city to city, from country to country, round 
the globe; the spirit that subsidizes all 
these to the godlike work of a world's 
salvation, and employs them to scatter the 
blessed truths of the gospel, thick as leaves 
of autumn or dew-drops of morning, all 
over the earth ; the spirit that is, at length, 
weaving the sympathies and interests of 
our whole race into the web of one vast 
fraternity, and stamping upon it, or writing 
over it, in characters bright as sunbeams, 
these simple yet glorious truths : the 
Fatherhood of God and the brotherhood 
of man ! Is it possible for such a spirit to 
rest, until it shall have swept war from the 
earth forever ? 

John Watrous Beckwith. 



THE REIGN OF PEACE FORESHADOWED. 

THAT future which filled the lofty visions 
of sages and bards of Greece and 
Rome, which was foretold by the pro- 
phets and heralded by the evangelists, when 
man, in happy isles or in a new paradise, 
shall confess the loveliness of peace, may 
be secured by your care, if not for your- 
selves, at least for your children. Believe 
that you can do it, and you can do it ! The 
true golden age is before you, and not behind 
you. If man has been driven once from 
paradise, while an angel with flaming sword 
forbade his return, there is another paradise, 
even on earth, which he may form for him- 
self by the cultivation of knowledge, reli- 
gion, and the kindly virtues of life ; where 
the confusion of tongues shall be dissolved 
in the union of hearts, and joyous nature, 
borrowing prolific charm^ from the prevail- 
ing harmony, shall spread her lap with 
unimagined bounty, and there shall be a 
perpetual jocund spring, and sweet strains 
borne on " odoriferous wing of gentle 
gales," through valleys of delight more 
pleasant than the vale of Tempe, richer 
than the garden of the Hesperides, with no 
dragon to guard its golden fruit. 

Let it not be said that the age does not 
demand this work. The robber conquerors 
of the past, from their fiery sepulchres, 
demand it ; the precious blood of millions 
unjustly shed in war, crying from the 
ground, demands it; the voices of all 
good men demand it ; and the conscience, 
even of the soldier, whispers, " Peace." 
There are considerations springing from our 
situation and condition, which fervently 
invite us to take the lead in this work. 
Here, should bend the patriotic ardor of the 
land, the ambition of the statesman, the 
efforts of the scholar, the persuasive influ- 
ence of the press, the mild persuasion of the 
sanctuary, the early teachings of the school. 
Here, in ampler ether and diviner air, are 
untried fields for exalted triumphs, more 
truly worthy the American name than any 
snatched from rivers of blood. War is 
known as the last reason of kings. Let it 
be no reason of our republic. Let us 
renounce and throw off, forever, the yoke 
of a tyranny more oppressive than any in 
the annals of the world. As those standing 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



on the mountain tops discern the coming 
beams of morning, let us, from the vantage- 
ground of liberal institutions, first recognize 
the ascending sun of the new era. Lift high 
the gates and let the king of glory in, and 
the king of true glory — of peace ! 

Chas. Sumner. 



A PLEA FOR UNIVERSAL PEACE. 

IT is a beautiful picture in Grecian story, 
that there was at least one spot, the 
small island of Delos, dedicated to the 
gods, and kept at all times sacred from war. 
No hostile foot ever sought to press this 
kindly soil, and the citizens of all countries 
here met in common worship beneath the 
segis of inviolable peace. So let us dedicate 
our beloved country, and may the blessed 
consecration be felt in all its parts, every- 
where throughout its ample domain ! The 
Temple of Honor shall be surrounded here, 
at last, by the Temple of Concord, that it 
may never more be entered through any 
portal of war ; the horn of abundance shall 
overflow at its gates ; the angel of religion 
shall be the guide over its flashing steps 
of adamant ; while within its enraptured 
courts, purged of violence and wrong, Jus- 
tice, returned to the earth from her long 
exile in the skies, with mighty scales for 
nations, as well as for men, shall rear her 
serene and majestic front ; and by her side, 
greatest of all, Charity, sublime in meek- 
ness, hoping all and enduring all, shall 
divinely temper every righteous decree, and 
with words of infinite cheer shall inspire 
those good works that cannot vanish away. 
And the future chiefs of the republic, des- 
tined to uphold the glories of a new era, 
unspotted by human blood, shall be "the 
first in peace, and the first in the hearts of 
their countrymen." 

But while seeking these blissful glories 
for ourselves, let us strive to tender them 
to other lands. Let the bugles sound the 
truce of God to the whole world, forever. 
Let the selfish boast of the Spartan women 
become the grand chorus of mankind, — 
that they have never seen the smoke of an 
enemy's camp. Let the iron belt of martial 
music which now encompasses the earth be 
exchanged for the golden cestus of peace, 



clothed with all celestial beauty. History 
dwells with fondness on the reverent homage 
that was bestowed by massacring soldiers 
upon the spot occupied by the sepulchre of 
our I^ord. Vain man ! to restrain his regard 
to a few feet of sacred mould. The whole 
earth is the sepulchre of the Lord ; nor can 
any righteous man profane any part thereof. 
Let us recognize the truth, and now, on 
this Sabbath of our country, lay a new stone 
in the grand temple of universal peace, 
whose dome shall be as lofty as the firma- 
ment of heaven, as broad and comprensive 
as the earth itself. Charles Sumner. 



A REPUBLIC THE STRONGEST GOVERN- 
MENT. 

(Extract from Thomas Jefferson's first inaugural address 
after the bitter presidential canvass in which he had been 
successful.) 

THE contest being now decided by the 
voice of the nation, and announced 
according to the rules of the Consti- 
tution, all will, of course, arrange them- 
selves under the will of the law, and unite 
in the common efforts for the common 
good. 

Let us, then, fellow-citizens, unite with 
one heart and one mind ; let us restore to 
social intercourse that harmony and affec- 
tion without which liberty and even life 
itself are but dreary things. And let us 
reflect that, having banished from our land 
that religious intolerance undei which man- 
kind so long bled and suffered, we have yet 
gained little, if we countenance a political 
intolerance as despotic, as wicked, and 
capable of as bitter and bloody persecu- 
tions. During the throes and convulsions 
of the ancient world, during the agonizing 
spasms of infuriated man, seeking, through 
blood and slaughter, his long-lost liberty, 
it was not wonderful that the agitation of 
the billows should reach even this distant 
and peaceful shore; that this should be 
more felt and feared by some, and less by 
others, and should divide opinions as to 
measures of safety ; but, every difference 
of opinion is not a difference of principle. 

We have called, by different names, 
brethren of the same principle. We are 
all republicans; we are all federalists. If 
there be any among us who would wish to 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



81 



dissolve this Union, or to change its repub- 
lican form, let them stand, undisturbed, as 
monuments of the safety with which error 
of opinion may be tolerated where reason is 
left free to combat it. I know, indeed, that 
some honest men fear that a republican 
government cannot be strong, — that this 
government is not strong enough. But 
would the honest patriot, in the full tide of 
successful experiment, abandon a govern- 
ment which has, so far, kept us free and 
firm, on the theoretic and visionary fear 
that this government, the world's best 
hope, may, by possibility, want energy to 
preserve itself? I trust not. I believe this, 
on the contrary, to be the strongest govern- 
ment on earth. I believe it the only one 
where every man, at the call of the law, 
would fly to the standard of the law, and 
would meet invasions of the public order 
as his own personal concern. Sometimes 
it is said that man cannot be trusted with 
the government of himself. Can he, then, 
be trusted with the government of others ? 
Let history answer this question. 

Thomas Jefferson. 



AMERICA AN AGGREGATE OF NATIONS. 

Giant aggregate of nations, glorious 
whole, of glorious parts, 
Unto endless generations live united, 
hands and hearts ! 
Be it storm or summer weather, peaceful 

calm or battle jar, 
Stand in beauteous strength together, sister 
States, as now ye are ! 

Every petty class-dissension, heal it up as 

quick as thought ; 
Every paltry place-pretension, crush it as a 

thing of naught ; 
Let no narrow private treason your great 

onward progress bar, 
But remain, in right and reason, sister 

States, as now ye are! 

Fling away absurd ambition ! people, leave 

that toy to kings ; 
Envy, jealousy, suspicion, — be above such 

grovelling things : 
In each other's joys delighted, all your hate 

be — joys of war, 
And by all means keep united, sister States, 

as now ye are ! 



Were I but some scornful stranger, still my 

counsel would be just ; 
Break the band and all is danger, mutual 

fear and dark distrust ; 
But you know me for a brother, and a friend 

who speaks from far, 
Be as one, then, with each other, sister 

States, as now ye are ! 

If it seems a thing unholy, freedom's soil 

by slaves to till, 
Yet be just ! and sagely, slowly, nobly cure 

that ancient ill : 
Slowly, — haste is fatal ever; nobly, — lest 

good faith ye mar ; 
Sagely, — not in wrath, to sever, sister 

States, as now ye are ! 

Charmed with your commingled beauty, 

England sends the signal round, 
' ' Every man must do his duty ' ' to redeem 

from bonds the bound ! 
Then, indeed, your banner's brightness, 

shining clear from every star, 
Shall proclaim your uprightness, sister 

States, as now ye are ! 

So a peerless constellation may those stars 

forever blaze I 
Three-and-ten times threefold nation, go 

ahead in power and praise ! 
Like the many-breasted goddess, throned 

on her Ephesian car, 
Be — one heart, in many bodies ! sister 

States, as now ye are ! 

Martin Farquhar Tupper. 



THE AMERICAN UNION A GEOGRAPHICAL 
NECESSITY. 

Extract from Address at Randolph Macon College. Virginia, 
at Commencement, 1854, 

The name " American," itself, is suffi- 
cient to inspire within the bosom of 
every one, who so proudly claims it, 
a holy zeal to preserve forever the endearing 
epithet. This Union must and will be pre- 
served ! Division is impossible ! Mind has 
never conceived of the man equal to the 
task ! Geographical lines can never sepa- 
rate the interests of the American people, 
can never dissever the ties which unite 
them. Each claims the beautiful lakes and 
flourishing cities of the North. Each claims 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



the extended prairies of the West and the 
rich productions of the sunny South. Each 
claims Massachusetts' patriot. Each claims 
Kentucky's sage. Who has not an inherit- 
ance in the ashes of Vernon's tomb ? New 
England as loudly and affectionately pro- 
claims him Father of his country, as does 
Virginia. New England never will relin- 
quish her claim ; Virginia, never, never suf- 
fer those ashes to be touched ! 

The Divine Architect of Nature, Himself, 
has said in His lofty mountains and majes- 
tic rivers, "Be united!" Observe their 
ranges and courses. The Blue Ridge, the 
Alleghany, and the Rocky Mountains all 
run north and south ; the great -Mississippi 
with her vast tributaries, parallel with 
them, waters the whole extent. There 
must be design in all this. The ancient 
poets and philosophers pictured a far-off 
land, across the waters, a fairer abode, a 
land of equal rights and a happy people. 
This, surely, is that land ; and through this 
people the Supreme Legislators has decreed 
that the true principles of government shall 
be taught all mankind . And as the blue 
arch, above, is in beauty shown us, so 
surely will it span the mightiest domain 
that ever shook earth. 

As surely as art and labor are now 
adorning, and science exalting, a land 
which religion has sanctified and patriot- 
ism redeemed, so surely will the Goddess 
of Liberty yet walk abroad in the gardens 
of Europe, and to our country shall belong 
all the honor. Then, no longer will be 
obscure our resplendent and glorious Con- 
stitution ! No more will our bright escut- 
cheon be tarnished ! No more will our 
banner droop ; but, in his original strength 
and pride, the American eagle, pluming 
himself for loftier flights and brighter 
climes, shall, fearlessly, while gazing on 
the beauties and splendors of his country's 
flag, shriek the downfall of tyranny ; and 
the longest, loudest, proudest shout of 
freedom's sons, in honor of freedom's 
triumph, shall be, — 

" The star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave 

O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ! '• 

Alexander Hogg. 



UNION LINKED WITH LIBERTY. 

From Inaugurai Address. 1833. 

Without union, our independence and 
liberty would never have been 
achieved ; without union they can 
never be maintained. 

The time at which I stand before you is 
full of interest. The eyes of all nations are 
fixed on our republic. The event of the 
existing crisis will be decisive, in the opin- 
ion of mankind, of the practicability of our 
federal system of government. Great is the 
stake placed in our hands ; great is the 
responsibility which must rest upon the 
people of the United States. Let us realize 
the importance of the attitude in which we 
stand before the world. Let us exercise for- 
bearance and firmness. Let us extricate our 
country from the dangers which surround 
it, and learn wisdom from the lessons they 
inculcate. Deeply impressed with the truth 
of these observations, and under the obliga- 
tion of that solemn oath which I am about 
to take, I shall continue to exert all my 
faculties to maintain the just powers of the 
Constitution, and to transmit unimpaired 
to posterity the blessings of our Federal 
Union. 

At the same time, it will be my aim to 
inculcate, by my official acts, the necessity 
of exercising, by the General Government, 
those powers only that are clearly delegated ; 
to encourage simplicity and economy in the 
expenditures of the Government ; to raise 
no more money from the people than may 
be requisite for these objects, and in a man- 
ner that will best promote the interests of 
all classes of the community, and of all por- 
tions of the Union. Constantly bearing in 
mind that, in entering into society, indivi- 
duals must give up a share of liberty to pre- 
serve the rest, it will be my desire so to 
discharge my duties as to foster with our 
brethren, in all parts of the country, a spirit 
of liberal concession and compromise ; and 
by reconciling our fellow-citizens to those 
partial sacrifices which they must unavoid- 
ably make, for the preservation of a greater 
good, to recommend our invaluable Govern- 
ment and Union to the confidence and affec- 
tions of the American people. Finally, it 
is my most fervent prayer to that Almighty 
Being before whom now I stand, and who 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



83 



has kept us in his hands from the infancy 
of our republic to the present day, that He 
will so overrule all my intentions and 
actions, and inspire the hearts of my fellow- 
citizens, that we may be preserved from 
dangers of all kinds and continue forever a 
united and happy people. 

Andrew Jackson. 



LIBERTY AND UNION ONE AND INSEPA- 
RABLE. 

I PROFESS, sir, in my career hitherto, to 
have kept steadily in view the prosper- 
ity and honor of the whole country, 
and the preservation of our Federal Union. 
It is to that Union that we owe our safety 
at home, and our consideration and dignity 
abroad. It is to that Union that we are 
chiefly indebted for whatever makes us most 
proud of our country. That Union we 
reached only by the discipline of our virtues, 
in the severe school of adversity. It had its 
origin in the necessities of disordered 
finance, prostrate commerce, and ruined 
credit. Under its benign influences these 
great interests immediately awoke, as from 
the dead, and sprang forth with newness of 
life. Every year of its duration has teemed 
with fresh proofs of its utility and its bless- 
ings ; and, although our territory has 
stretched out wider and wider, and our 
population spread farther and farther, they 
have not outrun its protection or its bene- 
fits. It has been to us a copious foun- 
tain, of national, social, and personal hap- 
piness. I have not allowed myself, sir, to 
look beyond the Union, to see what might 
lie hidden in the dark recess behind. I 
have not coolly weighed the chances of 
preserving liberty, when the bonds that 
unite us together shall be broken asunder. 
I have not accustomed myself to hang over 
the precipice of disunion, to see whether, 
with my short short sight, I can fathom the 
depth of the abyss below ; nor could I 
regard him as a safe counsellor in the affairs 
of this government, whose thoughts should 
be mainly bent on considering, not how the 
Union may be best preserved, but how tol- 
erable might be the condition of the people 
when it should be broken up and destroyed. 
While the Union lasts, we have high, 



exciting, gratifying prospects spread out 
before us, for us and our children. Beyond 
that I seek not to penetrate the veil. God 
grant that in my day, at least, that curtain 
may not rise ! God grant that on my vision 
never may be opened what lies behind ! 
When my eyes shall be turned to behold, 
for the last time, the sun in heaven, may I 
not see him shining on the broken and dis- 
honored fragments of a once glorious Union; 
on States dissevered, discordant, belliger- 
ent; on a land rent with civil feuds, or 
drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood ! 

L,et their last feeble and lingering glance 
rather behold the gorgeous ensign of the 
republic, now known and honored through- 
out the earth, still full high advanced, 
its arms and trophies streaming in their 
original lustre, not a stripe erased or pol- 
luted, not a single star obscured ; bearing 
for its motto no such miserable interroga- 
tory as, What is all this worth? nor those 
other words of delusion and folly, — Liberty 
first and Union afterwards ; but everywhere, 
spread all over in characters of living light, 
blazing on all its ample folds as they float 
over the sea and over the land, and in every 
wind under the whole heavens, that other 
sentiment, dear to every true American 
heart, — Liberty and Union > ?ww and for- 
ever, one and i?iseparable ! 

Daniee Webster. 



THE BATTLE-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC. 

Sung to the tune of "John Brown's Body." 

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the 
coming of the Lord ; 
He is trampling out the vintage 
where the grapes of wrath are 
stored ; 
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his 
terrible swift sword : 

His truth is marching on. 

I have seen him in the watch-fires of a 

hundred circling camps ; 
They have builded him an altar in the 

evening dews and damps ; 
I can read his righteous sentence by the 

dim and flaring lamps : 

His day is marching on. 



H 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished 

rows of steel : 
"As ye deal with my contemners, so with 

you my grace shall deal ; 
Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the 

serpent with his heel, 

Since God is marching on." 

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall 

never call retreat ; 
He is sifting out the hearts of men before 

his judgment-seat ; 
Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer him ! be 

jubilant, my feet ! 

Our God is marching on. 

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born 

across the sea, 
With a glory in his bosom that transfigures 

you and me ; 
As he died to make men holy, let us die to 

make men free, 

While God is marching on. 

Julia Ward Howe. 



MARSEILLES HYMN. 

The French National Hymn. 

YE sons of France, awake to glory. 
Hark, hark, what myriads bid 
rise ! 
Your children, wives, and grandsires 
hoary, — 
Behold their tears and hear their cries. 
Shall hateful tyrants mischiefs breeding, 
With hireling hosts, a ruffian band, 
Affright and desolate the land, 
While peace and liberty lie bleeding ? 

Chorus. 
To arms, to arms, ye brave ! 

Th' avenging sword unsheathe ! 
March on, march on, all hearts resolved 

On victory or death ! 

Now, now the dangerous storm is rolling 
Which treacherous kings confederate 
raise ; 

The dogs of war, let loose, are howling, 
And lo, our walls and cities blaze. 

And shall we basely view the ruin, 

While lawless force, with guilty stride, 
Spreads desolation far and wide, 

With crimes and blood his hands imbruing? 
Chorus. 



With luxury and pride surrounded, 

The vile, insatiate despots dare, 
Their thirst of gold and power unbounded, 

To mete and vend the light and air. 
Like beasts of burden would they load us, 

Like gods, would bid their slaves adore ; 

But man is man, and who is more ? 
Then, shall they longer lash and goad us ? 
Chorus. 

O Liberty, can man resign thee, 

Once having felt thy generous flame ? 

Can dungeons, bolts, or bars confine thee ? 
Or whips thy noble spirit tame ? 

Too long the world has wept, bewailing 
That falsehood's dagger tyrants wield, — 
But freedom is our sword and shield, 

And all their arts are unavailing. 
Chorus. 

Rouget de Lisle. 



THE SPANISH PATRIOTS' SONG. 

Hark ! hear ye the sounds that the 
winds, on their pinions, 
Exultingly roll from the shore to 
the sea, 
With a voice that resounds through her 
boundless dominions ? 
'Tis Columbia calls on her sons to be 
free! 

Behold, on yon summits, where Heaven 
has throned her, 
How she starts from her proud, innacces- 
sible seat, 
With nature's impregnable ramparts around 
her, 
And the cataract's thunder and foam at 
her feet ! 

In the breeze of her mountains her loose 
locks are shaken, 
While the soul-stirring notes of her 
warrior-song, 
From the rock to the valley, re-echo, 
"Awaken ! 
Awaken, ye hearts that have slumbered 
too long !" 

Yes, despots ! too long did your tyranny 
hold us 
In a vassalage vile, ere its weakness was 
known, — 






PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



Till we learned that the links of the chain 
that controlled us 
Were forged by the fears of its captive 
alone. 

That spell is destroyed, and no longer 
availing. 
Despised as detested, pause well ere ye 
dare 
To cope with a people whose spirits and 
feeling 
Are roused by remembrance and steeled 
by despair. 

Go, tame the wild torrent, or stem with a 
straw 
The proud surges that sweep o'er the 
strand that confined them ; 
But presume not again to give freemen a 
law, 
Nor think with the chains they have 
broken to bind them. 

To heights by the beacons of liberty 
lightened, 
They're a scorn who come up her }^oung 
eagles to tame ; 
And to swords, that her sons for the battle 
have brightened, 
The hosts of a king are as flax to a 
flame. 

Anonymous. 



85 
■Be the combat 



SONG OF THE GREEKS. 

'(1822.) 

Again to the battle, Azhaians ! 
Our hearts bid the tyrants defiance ; 
Our land, the first garden of liberty's 
tree — 
It has been, and shall yet be, the land of the 
free ; 
For the cross of our faith is replanted, 
The pale dying crescent is daunted, 
And we march that the footprints of 

Mahomet's slaves 
May be washed out in blood from our 
forefathers' graves. 
Their spirits are hovering o'er us, 
And the sword shall to glory restore us. 

Ah ! what though no succor advances, 
Nor Christendom's chivalrous lances 



Are stretched in our aid ?- 

our own ! 
And we'll perish or conquer more proudly 
alone : 
For we've sworn, by our country's 

assaulters, 
By the virgins they've dragged from our 
altars, 
By our massacred patriots, our children in 

chains, 
By our heroes of old, and their blood in our 
veins, 
That, living, we shall be victorious, 
Or that, dying, our deaths shall be 
glorious. 

A breath of submission we breathe not : 
The sword that we've drawn we will 
sheathe not ; 
Its scabbard is left where our martyrs are 

laid, 
And the vengeance of ages has whetted its 
blade. 
Karth may hide, waves engulf, fire 

consume us, 
But they shall not to slavery doom us : 
If they rule, it shall be o'er our ashes and 

graves : 
But we've smote them already with fire on 
the waves, 
And new triumphs on land are before us. 
To the charge ! — Heaven's banner is o'er 
us. 

This day — shall ye blush for its story ? 
Or brighten your lives with its glory ? — 
Our women — oh, say, shall they shriek in 

despair, 
Or embrace us from conquest with wreaths 
in their hair ? 
Accursed may his memory blacken, 
If a coward there be that would slacken, 
Till we've trampled the turban, and shown 

ourselves worth 
Being sprung from, and named for, the 
godlike of earth. 
Strike home ! — and the world will revere 

us 
As heroes descended from heroes. 

Old Greece lightens up with emotion ; 
Her inlands, her isles of the ocean, 
Fanes rebuilt, and fair towns, shall with 
jubilee ring, 



86 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



And the Nine shall new-hallow their 

Helicon's spring. 

Our hearths shall be kindled in gladness, 

That were cold and extinguished in 

sadness, 

Whilst our maidens shall dance with their 

white waving arms, 
Singing joy to the brave that delivered their 
charms, 
When the blood of yon Mussulman 

cravens 
Shall have purpled the beaks of our 
ravens. 

Thomas Campbell. 



HIGHLAND WAR SONG. 

* A Pibroch (pronounced Pi'brok) is a martial air played 
with the bagpipe. Donuil, pronounce Don nil, 

Pibroch* of Donuil Dhu, pibroch of 
Donuil, 
Wake thy wild voice anew, summon 
Clan-Conuil. 
Come away, come away, hark to the 

summons ! 
Come in your war array, gentles and 
commons ! 

Come from deep glen, and from mountain so 

rocky, 
The war-pipe and pennon are at Inverlochy ; 
Come every hill-plaid, and true heart that 

wears one, 
Come every steel -blade, and strong hand 

that bears one. 

Leave untended the herd, the flock without 

shelter ; 
Leave the corpse uninterred, the bride at the 

altar ; 
Leave the deer, leave the steer, leave nets 

and barges ; 
Come with your fighting gear, broadswords 

and targes. 

Come as the winds come, when forests are 

rended ; 
Come as the waves come, when navies are 

stranded ; 
Faster come, faster come, faster and faster, 
Chief, vassal, page and groom, tenant and 

master. 



Fast they come, fast they come; see how 

they gather ! 
Wide waves the eagle-plume, blended with 

heather, 
Cast your plaids, draw your blades, forward 

each man set ! 
Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, knell for the onset ! 
Sir Walter Scott. 



THE WATCH BY THE RHINE. 

German National War Song — Translated by 
H. W. Ducki^kn. 

A cry bursts forth like thunder-sound, 
Like swords' fierce clash, like waves' 
rebound, — 
To the Rhine, the Rhine, the German 

Rhine ! 
To guard the river, who'll combine ? 
Dear Fatherland, good trust be thine, — 
Fast stands, and true, the watch by the 
Rhine. 

From myriad mouths the summons flies, 
And brightly flash a myriad eyes ; 
Brave, honest, true, the Germans come, 
To guard the sacred bounds of home. 
Dear Fatherland, good trust be thine, — 
Fast stands, and true, the watch by the 
Rhine. 

And though the strife bring death to me, 

No foreign river shalt thou be ; 

Kxhaustless as thy watery flood 

Is German land in hero-blood. 

Dear Fatherland, good trust be thine — 
Fast stands, and true, the watch by the 
Rhine. 

If upward he his glance doth send, 
There hero-fathers downward bend. 
He sweareth, proud to fight his part, 
Thou Rhine, be German, like my heart. 
Dear Fatherland, good trust be thine, — 
Fast stands, and true, the watch by the 
Rhine. 

While yet one drop of blood thou 'It yield, 
While yet one hand the sword can wield, 
While grasps the rifle one bold hand, 
No foe shall tread thy sacred strand. 
Dear Fatherland, good trust be thine,— 
Fast stands, and true, the watch by the 
Rhine. 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



§7 



The oath peals forth, the wave runs by, 

Our flags, unfurled, are waving high. 

To the Rhine, the Rhine, the German 

Rhine ! 
To keep thee free we'll all combine. 

Dear Fatherland, good trust be thine, — 
Fast stands, and true, the watch by the 
Rhine. 

Max Schneckenbcjrger. 



THE GERHAN'S FATHERLAND. 

What is the German's. fatherland ? — 
Is't Prussian land, or Swabian land ? 
Where the grape-vine glows on the 
Rhenish strand ? 
Where the sea-gull flies o'er the Baltic 
sand ? 
Ah, no ! ah, no ! 
His fatherland must greater be, I trow. 

What is the German's fatherland ? — 
Bavarian land, or Styrian land ? 
Now Austria it needs must be, 
So rich in fame and victory. 

Ah, no ! ah, no ! 

His fatherland must greater be, I trow. 

What is the German's fatherland ? — ■ 
Pomeranian land, Westphalia land ? 
Where o'er the sea-flats the sand is blown? 
Where the mighty Danube rushes on ? 

Ah, no ! ah, no ! 

His fatherland must greater be, I trow. 

What is the German's fatherland ? — ■ 
Say thou the name of the mighty land. 
Is't Switzerland, or Tyrol, tell :— 
The land and the people pleased me well. 

Ah, no ! ah, no ! 

His fatherland must greater be, I trow. 

What is the German's fatherland ? — ■ 
Name thou at length to me the land. 
Wherever in the German tongue 
To God in heaven hymns are sung ! — 

That shall it be,— that shall it be ; 

That, gallant German, is for thee ! 

That is the German's fatherland 
Where binds like an oath the grasped hand, 
Where from men's eyes truth flashes forth, 
Wherein men's hearts are love and worth! — 

That shall it be,— that shall it be ; 

That, gallant German, is for thee ! 



It is the whole of Germany. 
Look, Lord, thereon, we pray to Thee. 
Let German spirit in us dwell, 
That we may love it true and well. 

That shall it be,— that shall it be ; 

The whole, the whole of Germany ! 

Ernst Moritz Arndt. 



GERMAN BATTLE PRAYER. 

Father, I cry to Thee. 
Cannon-smoke rolleth in clouds 
o'er me roaring, 
War's jetted lightnings around me are 
pouring : 
Lord of the battle, I cry to Thee. 
Father, oh, lead Thou me. 

Father, oh, lead Thou me, 
Lead me as victor, by death when I'm 

riven, 
Lord, I acknowledge the law Thou hast 
given ; 
E'en as Thou wilt, Lord, so lead Thou 
me, — 
God, I acknowledge Thee. 

God, I acknowledge Thee. 
So when the autumn leaves rustle around me, 
So when the thunders of battle surround me, 
Fountain of grace, I acknowledge Thee, — 

Father, oh, bless Thou me. 

Father, oh, bless Thou me. 
Into Thy care commend I my spirit ; 
Thou canst reclaim what from Thee I 
inherit ; 
Living or dying, still bless Thou me, — 
Father, I worship Thee. 

Father, I worship Thee. 
Not for earth's riches Thy servants are 

fighting, ^ 
Holiest cause with our swords we are 
righting ; 
Conquering or falling, I worship Thee — 
God, I submit to Thee. 

God, I submit to Thee. 
When all the terrors of death are assailing, 
When in my veins e'en the life-blood is 
failing, 
Lord, unto Thee will I bow the knee, — 
Father, I cry to Thee. 

Kare Theodor K'oRNEr. 



88 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



GOD SAVE THE KING. 

The national anthem of Great Britain has become so closely- 
identified with the hymn "America" that they seem insepar- 
able, — the music being common to both. Neither Henry nor 
George S. Carey can be credited, clearly, with its origin. George 
S. Carey claimed that his father was the author. The following 
words by Rev. W. D. Tattersall, harmonized by T. S. Dupuis, 
Doctor of Music, were used in London in January, 1793, three 
of the verses being nearly the same as those used about the year 
1745, in the reign of George II. 

Version of 1793. 

God save great George our King, 
Long live our noble King, 
God save the King, 
Send him victorious, 
Happy and glorious, 
Long to reign over us, 
God save the King ! 

Let discord's lawless train 
Know their vile arts are vain, 

Britain is free ; 
Confound their politics, 
Frustrate their knavish tricks, 
With equal laws we mix 

True liberty. 

England's stanch soldiery, 
Proof against treachery, 

Bravely unite ; 
Firm in his country's cause, 
His sword each hero draws, 
To guard our King and laws 

From factious might. 

When insults rise to wars, 
Oak-hearted British tars 

Scorn to be slaves ; 
Ranged in our wooden walls, 
Ready when duty calls 
To send their cannon-balls 

O'er Ocean's waves. 

O Lord our God, arise, 
Scatter our enemies, 

And make them fall. 
Cause civil broils to cease, 
Commerce and trade t' increase; 
With plenty, joy, and peace, 

God bless us all. 

Gracious to this famed isle, 
On our loved Monarch smile, 

With mildest rays ; 
Oh, let thy light divine 
On Brunswick's royal line 
With cheering influence shine 

To latest days. 



GOD SAVE THE QUEEN, 

Present Version. 

God save our gracious Queen, 
Long live our noble Queen, 
God save the Queen ! 
Send her victorious, 
Happy and glorious, 
Long to reign over us ! 
God save the Queen ! 

O Lord our God, arise, 
Scatter her enemies, 

And make them fall. 
Confound their politics, 
Frustrate their knavish tricks, 
On Thee our hopes we fix, 

Oh, save us all. 

Thy choicest gifts in store 
On her be pleased to pour. 

Long may she reign ! 
May she defend our laws, 
And ever give us cause 
To sing with heart and voice, 

God save the Oueen ! 



G 



THE "RECESSIONAL.'' 
od of our fathers, known of old- 



Lord of our far-flung battle-line — 
Beneath Whose awful Hand we hold 
Dominion over palm and pine — 

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 
Lest we forget — lest we forget ! 

The tumult and the shouting dies — 

The captains and the kings depart — 
Still stands Thine ancient Sacrifice, 
An humble and a contrite heart. 
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 
Lest we forget — lest we forget ! 

Far- called our navies melt away — 

On dune and headland sinks the fire — 
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday 
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre ! 
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet, 
Lest we forget — lest we forget ! 

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose 

Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe- 
Such boasting as the Gentiles use 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



89 



Or lesser breeds without the law — 
X^ord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 
Lest we forget — lest we forget ! 

For heathen heart that puts her trust 

In reeking tube and iron shard — 
All valiant dust that builds on dust, 
And guarding calls not Thee to guard- 
For frantic boast and foolish word, 
Thy mercy on Thy people, Lord ! 
Amen. 

RUDYARD KlPEING. 



MARCHING TO CUBA. 

Melody of ' " Marching through Georgia." 

This selection may be used as a recitation without the chorus. 

This may be made quite a pleasing feature of an entertain- 
ment if boys be dressed in Cuban war uniforms and march back 
and forth on the stage singing the words to the tune of " March- 
ing through Georgia," 

We're going down to Cuba, boys, to 
battle for the right. 
We're going to show those Spaniards 
that we Yankee boys can fight, 
And when thej. see us coming they'll 
scatter left and right, 
When we march into Cuba. 



Chorus. 

Hurrah, hurrah, we'll sound the jubilee, 
Hurrah, hurrah, boys, Cuba shall be 
free ; 
And so we'll sing the chorus, from 
Mt. Gretna to the sea, 
While we are marching to Cuba. 

v Twas in Manila Bay, boys, our ships the 
foe did meet, 
We didn't need a hurricane to wreck 
the Spanish fleet, 
But just one Dewey morning and our 
vict'ry was complete, 
As we were marching to Cuba. — Chorus. 

In Santiago harbor Sampson has them 
bottled tight. 
Hobson put the cork in, and we think 
he did it right : 
And when they find they can't get out 
they'll have to stand and fight, 
When we march into Cuba. — Chorus. 



With Dewey, Schley and Sampson we 
need not have a fear, 
For they will guard the harbors while 
we attack the rear ; 
We'll plant our flag on Morro, and give 
one mighty cheer, 
When we march into Cuba. — Chorus. 
W. Gilbert Kayser. 



THE " MAINE " RED, WHITE AND BLUE. 

Air — "Red, White and Blue. ' ' 

LET us honor the dead of our nation, 
the sailors so brave and so true ; 
The lads who now sleep in the ocean, 
who died for the red, white and blue. 
The battleship "Maine" is their casket, 

their souls are with God in review, 

And widows and orphans are mourning 

the loss to the red, white and blue. 

Chorus. 

Three cheers for the red, white and blue ! 
Three cheers for the sailor boys true ! 

Three cheers for our loyal White Squad- 
ron, 
And three for the red, white and blue ! 

The ironclad " Maine" at Havana, like a 
monarch of absolute rule, 

Undreaming of woe or disaster, undream- 
ing of knave or of tool, 

L,ay at rest and at peace in the harbor, the 
stars watching o'er her brave crew, 

When death and destruction o'ertook her, 
and sullied the red, white and blue. 

Chorus. 

Then honor the dead of her crew, 
Then honor the living so true ; 

Then honor the loyal White Squadron, 
And cheer for the red, white and blue ! 

If treachery's hand held the missile that 

shattered our noble ship " Maine," 
America's grieved population will discover 

it, even in Spain ; 
And the God of our Fathers in justice to 

the cause of the brave and the true, 
Will guide us in wiping dishonor from our 

beautiful red, white and blue. 

Joseph Kerr. 



go 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



OUR HEROES. 

Air: — " Tramp, Tramp, Tramp, the boys are 
Marching." 

IN the battle front you stood 
When the fierce onslaught was made, 
From the trenches on San Juan hill ; 
But before the Spanish knew 
Our gallant boys in blue 
Were upon them in the trenches, brave and 
true. 

Chorus. 

Welcome home, ye gallant heroes, 
Welcome home — yes, one and all 
Who went forth, like gallant men, to fight 
our battles again, 
In the cause of humanity. 

While encamped upon the field, 
Ready to fight and not to yield 

To any foreign foe or Spanish Don ; 
For our Yankee boys will fight 

In a cause that's just and right, 

And they're in it to a man with all their 
might. 

Some had fallen on the plain, 

Others with fevers they were slain, 
But their heart were ever brave and true ; 

In mem'ry they shall last, 

Though their time on earth is passed, 
For they've gone to join the God of battles 
in heaven anew. 

And our starry banner free 

Shall float o'er America, 
For our government has no conquest in its 
plan : 

Puerto Rico we shall keep, 

As indemnity Spain can't meet, 
To pay for lessons taught by Uncle Sam. 



YANKEE DEWEY. 

Among the hundreds of poems and songs written on Admiral 
Dewey we find the following, a happy parody on " Yankee 
Doodle," and may be sung to the air of that famous song. 

Yankee Dewey went to sea, 
Sailing on a cruiser, 
He took along a company, 
Of men and guns, a few, sir. 

Chorus. 



With men and guns and cruisers, too, 
You're certainly quite handy. 

He sailed away to the Philippines, 
With orders for to snatch them, 

And thrash the Spaniards right and left, 
Wherever he could catch them. — Chorus 

And Yankee Dewey did it, too, 

He did it so complete, sir. 
That not a blooming ship is left, 

Of all that Spanish fleet, sir. — Chorus. 

Oh, Yankee Dewey, you're a peach, 

A noble, gallant tar, sir ; 
You're " out of sight, " you're out of reach, 

We hail} T ou from afar, sir. — Chorus. 

We greet you with three rousing cheers, 
For you and your brave crews, sir ; 

For the deeds you've done and the victory 
won, 
For Yankee Doodle Doo, sir. — Chorus. 

Yankee Dewey, keep it up, 

You certainly are handy, 
With men and guns and cruisers, too, 

Oh, Dewey, you're a dandy. — Chorus. 

O. H. Cole. 



Yankee Dewey ; Ha ! Ha 
Dewey you're a dandy ; 



Ha 



" DIXIE " UP=TO=DATE. 

Song of the Southern Volunteers. Tune op Dixie. 

I wish I were in the far, far North 
To cheer my comrades starting forth ; 
Hurrah, hurah, hurah, hurah ! 
Their fathers were of ours the foes — 
But that's forgot like last year's snows. 
Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah, hurrah ! 

Chorus. 

O Yankeeland and Dixie ! 
Hurrah ! Hurrah ! 
In Yankeeland and Dixieland 
We're linked together, heart and hand ; 
Hurrah ! hurrah ! for Yankeeland and 
Dixie. 

They fought in blue, we fought in gray — 
But that's a tale of yesterday ; 

Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah, hurrah ! 
And now we don the blue again 
To down with them the Dons of Spain, 

Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah, hurrah ! — Cho. 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



We're going to drive from Cuba's isle 
Starvation, tyranny and guile ; 

Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah, hurrah ! 
And when we've downed those Dons of 

Spain, 
Why, then we're coming home again. 
Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah, hurrah ! — Cho. 
John Hall Ingham. 



THE BLACK REQIHENT. 

The following song, sung by the colored soldiers as they 
marched to the front, is a fair specimen of many composed by 
the negro troops and their friends during the Spanish War. It is 
inserted because of its faithfulness to the rude, yet metrical 
style of untutored negro composition. 



D 



K cullud troops, dey marchin' — 
De regiments gwine pas' ; 
" En whar did de Guv'ment sen : 
you?" 
' ' We gwine ter de Tortu-gas ! ' ' 

Oh, my wife en chillin' ! 

Make way en lemme pass ! 
De Guv'ment sen' me fur frum home ! 

I gwine to the Tortu-gas ! 

De cullud troops, dey marchin' — 
Dey trompin' down de grass ; 

" En whar is de Guv'ment sen' you ? " 
" We gwine ter de Tortu-gas ! " 

Oh, my wife en chillin' ! 

Make way en lemme pass ! 
De Guv'ment sen' me fur frum home — 

I gwine ter de Tortu-gas. 



THE BOER SWAN SONG. 

One of the best poems called forth by the Boer-British War of 
1899-1900, was published in the Capetown Telephone , and bears 
the above title In the song, the old Boer rifleman is represented 
as hearing the advance of the British forces with a consciousness 
that the dream of a Boer empire in South Africa is at an end. 

YES, the red-coats are returning ; I can 
hear the steady tramp, 
After twenty years of waiting, lulled 
to sleep. 
Since rank and file at Potchefstroom we 
hemmed them in their camp. 
And cut them up at Bronkerspruit like 
sheep. 
They shelled us at Ingogo, but we galloped 
into range, 
And we shot the British gunners where 
they showed. 



I guessed they would return to us — I knew 
the chance must change — 
Hark ! the rooi-baatje singing on the 
road ! 

But now from snow -swept Canada, from 
India's torrid plains, 
From lone Australian outposts, hither 
led; 
Obeying their commando, as they heard the 
bugle's strains. 
The men in brown have joined the men 
in red. 
They come to find the colors at Majuba left 
and lost, 
They come to pay us back the debt they 
owed ; 
And I hear new voices lifted, and I see 
strange colors tossed, 
'Mid the rooi-baatje singing on the road. 

The old, old faiths must falter, the old, old 
creeds must fail — 
I hear it in that distant murmur low — 
The old, old order changes, and 'tis vain 
for us to rail ; 
The great world does not want us — we 
must go. 
And veldt, and spruit, and kopje to the 
stranger will belong, 
No more to trek before him we shall 
load ; 
Too well, too well I know it, for I hear it 
in the song 
Of the rooi-baatje singing on the road. 

S. J. O. B. 



THE BOER NATIONAL HYMN. 

Sung in camp almost every morning, and also at Sabbath 
worship during the Boer-British War, 1899 and 1900, in South 
Africa. 

Right nobly gave, voortrekkers brave, 
Their blood, their lives, their all 
For freedom's right, in death's despite, 
They fought at duty's call. 
Ho, burghers ! High our banner waveth, 

The standard of the free, 
No foreign yoke our land enslaveth, 

Here reigneth liberty. 
^Tis Heaven's command, here we should 

stand, 
And aye defend the volk and land. 






92 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



What realm so fair, so richly fraught, 

With treasures ever new, 
Where nature hath her wonders wrought, 

And freely spread to view ! 
Ho, burghers old ! Be up and singing, 

God save the Volk and land, 
This, burghers new, your anthem ringing, 

O'er veldt, o'er hill, o'er strand. 
And burghers all, stand ye or fall, 
For hearths and homes at country's call. 

With wisdom, Lord, our rulers guide, 

And these Thy people bless ; 
May we with nations all abide 

In peace and righteousness. 
To Thee, whose mighty arm hath shielded 

Thy volk in by-gone days, 
To Thee alone be humbly yielded 

All glory, honor, praise. 
God guard our land, our own dear land, 
Our children's home, their Fatherland. 



A PARODY ON " AULD LANG SYNE." 

Special Cable to The North American. 
At a concert given at Bloemfoatein, Orange Free State, April 
18, 1900, in aid of the widows and orphans fund, organized by the 
war correspondents, where the leaders of the army were present. 
Kipling's new poem was sung to the music of " Auld Lang Syne." 
The poem follows : 

We welcome to our hearts to-night 

Our kinsmen from afar, 
Brothers in an empire's fight 

And comrades of our war. 
For " Auld Lang Syne," my lads, 

And the fights of " Auld Lang Syne ;" 
We drink our cup of fellowship 

To the fights of " Auld Lang Syne." 

The shamrock, thistle, leek and rose, 

With hearts and wattle twine, 
And maple from Canadian snows 

For the sake of " Auld Lang Syne." 
For ' ' Auld Lang Syne ' ' take hands 

From London to the line ; 
Good luck to these that toiled with us 

Since the days of "Auld Lang Syne." 

Again to all we hold most dear 

In life we left behind, 
The wives we won, the bairnes we kissed 

And the loves of " Auld Lang Syne ; " 
For surely you have your sweetheart, 

And surely I have mine ; 
We toast her name in silence here 

And the girls of " Auld Lang Syne, " 



And last to him, the little man, 

Who led our fighting line 
From Cabul on to Kandahar 

In the days of ' ' Auld Lang Syne ; ' 
For " Auld Lang Syne " and " Bobs, 

Our chief of " Auld Lang Syne," 
We're here to do his work again 

As we did in " Auld Lang Syne." 



CAMP CALLS. 



The reciter of the following lines should imitate the tones and 
time of the bugle calls they represent. If some military friend 
with a bugle or cornet be available the lines should be practised 
with his accompaniment to train the voice proficiently. The 
words should be spoken distinctly. 

I can't git 'em up ! 
I can't git 'em up ! 
I can't git 'em up in the morning. 
I can't git 'em up, 
I can't git 'em up, 
I can't git 'em up at all ! 
The corporal's worse than the sergeant, 
The sergeant's worse than lieutenant, 
And the captain's the worst of all ! 

Go to the stable, 

All ye that are able, 
And give your horses some corn, 

For if you don't do it, 

The captain will know it, 

And give you the devil 
As sure as you're born ! 

Oh, where has that cook gone, 

Cook gone, 

Cook gone. 
Where has that cook gone ? 
Where the aitch is he-e-e ? 

Twenty years till dinner time. 

Dinner time, 

Dinner time, 
Twenty years till dinner time. 
So it seems to me-e-e ! 

Come and git your quinine, 
Quinine, quinine, quinine ! 
Come and git your quinine, 
And your pills ! 

Soupy, soupy, soup — 

Without any beans ! 
An' coffee, coffee, coffee — 

The meanest ever seen 1 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



93 






REVEILLE. 

The effect of the following recitation will be greatly enhanced 
if the speaker dress in soldier uniform and carry a rifle as if on 
sentinel duty, and the words in italics be spoken to the accom- 
paniment of a bugle or cornet sounding the notes softly behind 
a curtain or in adjoining room. 

Thk morning is cheery my boys, arouse ! 
The dew shines bright on the chestnut 
boughs, 
And the sleepy mist on the river lies, 
Though the east is flushing with crimson 
dyes. 
Awake ! awake ! awake ! 
O'er field and wood and brake, 
With glories newly born, 
Comes on the blushing morn, 
Awake ! awake ! 

You have dreamed of your homes and your 

friends all night ; 
You have basked in your sweethearts ' smiles 

so bright : 
Come, part with them all for a while again — 
Be lovers in dreams ; when awake, be men. 
Turn out! turn out ! turn out! 

You have dreamed full long I know, 
Turn out ! turn out ! tur?i out ! 
The east is all aglow. 
Turn out ! turn out ! 

From every valley and hill there come 
The clamoring voices of fife and drum ; 
And out on the fresh, cool morning air 
The soldiers are swarming everywhere. 
Fall in ! fall in ! fall in ! 
Every man in his place. 
Fall in ! fall in ! fall in ! 
Kach with a cheerful face. 
Fall in ! fall in ! 

Michael O'Connor. 



DIRGE OF THE DRUMS. 

In pronouncing these words imitate in deep measured tones 
the sound of the drum-beat. 

DEAD ! Dead ! Dead, dead, dead ! 
To the solemn beat of the last retreat 
That falls like lead, 
Bear the hero now to his honored rest 
With the badge of courage upon his breast, 
While the sun sinks down in the gleaming 
West- 
Dead ! Dead ! Dead ! 



Dead ! Dead ! Mourn the dead ! 
While the mournful notes of the bugles 
float 

Across his bed, 
And the guns shall toll on the vibrant air 
The knell of the victor lying there — 
'Tis a fitting sound for a soldier's prayer — - 

Dead ! Dead ! Dead ! 

Dead ! Dead ! Dead, dead, dead ! 
To the muffled beat of the lone retreat 

And speeding lead, 
Lay the hero low to his well-earned rest, 
In the land he loved, on her mother breast, 
While the sunlight dies in the darkening 
West- 
Dead ! Dead ! Dead ! 

Ralph Alton. 



A MOTHER'S LAMENT. 

Suitable for Decoration Day entertainment. If the reciter 
be dressed in the garb of a bereaved mother the effect will be 
better. 

" In Rama was there a voice heard, 
Rachel weeping for her children." 

I am but one of the many — the mothers 
who weep and who mourn 
For the dear sons slain in the battle ! 
Oh ! burden of sorrow borne 
At the thought of their needed comforts, 

their hardships along the way ! 
But we prayed to Thee, loving Father, to 

sustain them day by day ; 
Now our hearts are dumb in our anguish, 
and our lips refuse to pray. 

They are slain in the cruel battle, the 

pitiless chance of war ! 
From the homes that they were the light 

of, from those that they loved afar, 
With no mother-kisses to soothe them, no 

ministry of loving hand ! 
But 'tis well with them, now and forever, 

for they live in the " better land," 
Where Thy peace shall abide forever, and 

never an armed band. 

For they were Thy heroes, dear Father; 

they fell as Thy heroes fall, 
And loyal, and true, and undaunted, they 

answered their country's call ; 
They laid their young lives on her altar, 

for her will their blood was shed ; 



94 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



And now there is naught that can comfort 
the mothers whose hearts have bled 

For the sons who went to the battle, by 
the chance of the battle dead. 

! God, Thou hast tender pity, and love 

for the broken in heart, 

But not even Thou can'st comfort, for there 
is no comfort apart 

From the son who went out from my cling- 
ing : O God, I cry to Thee ! 

1 grope in the darkness to clasp him — that 

darkness that hides from me 
The sight of Thy hand, dear Father! 
though outstretched to comfor it be. 

Isidor D. French. 



SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE. 

Warriors and chiefs ! should the shaft 
or the sword 
Pierce me in leading the hosts of 
the Lord, 
Heed not the corse, though a king's, in 

your path : 
Bury your steel in the bosoms of Gath ! 

Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow, 
Should the soldiers of Saul look away from 

the foe, 
Stretch me that moment in blood at thy 

feet! 
Mine be the doom, which they dared not to 

meet. 

Farewell to others, but never we part, 
Heir to my royalty, son of my heart ! 
Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway, 
Or kingly the death, which awaits us 
to-day ! 

Byron. 

WASHINGTON TO HIS SOLDIERS. 

An address delivered by the father of his country to his army 
before they began the battle of Long Island, 1776. 

The time is now near at hand which must 
probably determine whether Ameri- 
cans are to be freemen or slaves ; 
whether they are to have any property they 
can call their own ; whether their houses 
and farms are to be pillaged and destroyed, 
and themselves consigned to a state of 
wretchedness from which no human efforts 



will deliver them. The fate of unborn mill- 
ions will now depend, under God, on the 
courage and conduct of this army . Our cruel 
and unrelenting enemy leaves us only the 
choice of a brave resistance, or the most 
abject submission. We have, therefore, to 
resolve to conquer or to die. 

Our own, our country's honor, calls upon 
us for a vigorous and manly exertion ; and 
if we now shamefully fail, we shall become 
infamous to the whole world. Let us, then, 
rely on the goodness of our cause, and the 
aid of the Supreme Being, in whose hands 
victory is, to animate and encourage us to 
great and noble actions. The eyes of all our 
countrymen are now upon us ; and we shall 
have their blessings and praises, if happily 
we are the instruments of saving them from 
the tyranny meditated against them. Let 
us, therefore, animate and encourage each 
other, and show the whole world that a free- 
man contending for liberty on his own 
ground is superior to any slavish mercenary 
on earth. 

Liberty, property, life and honor, are all 
at stake. Upon your courage and conduct 
rest the hopes of our bleeding and insulted 
country. Our wives, children and parents, 
expect safety from us only ; and they have 
every reason to believe that Heaven will 
crown with success so just a cause. The 
enemy will endeavor to intimidate by show 
and appearance; butremember they havebeen 
repulsed on various occasions by a few brave 
Americans . Their cause is bad, — their men 
are conscious of it ; and, if opposed with 
firmness and coolness on their first onset, 
with our advantage of works, and knowl- 
edge of the ground, the victory is most 
assuredly ours. Every good soldier will be 
silent and attentive, wait for orders, and 
reserve his fire until he is sure of doing exe- 
cution. 

THE FOURTH OF JULY. 

To the sages who spoke, to the heroes who 
bled, 
To the day and the deed, strike the harp- 
strings of glory ! 
Let the song of the ransomed remember the 
dead, 
And the tongue of the eloquent hallow 
the story ! 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



95 



O'er the bones of the bold 
Be that story long told, 
And on fame's golden tablets their tri- 
umphs enrolled, 
Who on freedom's green hills freedom's 

banner unfurled, 
And the beacon fire raised that gave light to 
the world ! 

They are gone — mighty men ! — and they 
sleep in their fame ; 
Shall we ever forget them? O, never! 



no, never 



Let our sons learn from us to embalm each 

great name, 
And the anthem send down, — " Inde- 
pendence forever ! ' ' 

Wake, wake, heart and tongue ? 

Keep the theme ever young ; 
Let their deeds through the long line of 

ages be sung, 
Who on freedom's green hills freedom's 

banner unfurled, 
And the beacon-fire raised that gave light 

to the world ! 

CHARLES SPRAGUE 



THE HERO OF THE COMMUNE. 

The hero of this poem became the greatest general in Napol- 
eon's army. 

i i /^\ arcon ! You , you 

VJ Snared along with this cursed 
crew ? 
(Only a child, and yet so bold, 
Scarcely as much as ten years old !) 
Do you hear ? do you know 
Why the gens d' amies put you there, in tne 

row, 
You with those Commune wretches tall, 
With your face to the wall ? 

1 ' Know ? To be sure I know ! Why not ? 

We're here to be shot ; 
And there by the pillar's the very spot, 

Fighting for France, my father fell. 
Ah, well !— 
That's just the way / would choose to fall, 

With my back to the wall ! ' ' 

" (Sacre ! Fair, open fight I say, 

Is something right gallant in its way, 

And fine for warming the blood ; but 
who 



Wants wolfish work like this to do ? 
Bah! 'tis a butcher's business !) How? 
(The boy is beckoning to me now : 

I knew that this poor child's heart 
would fail, 

Yet his cheek's not pale :) 

Quick ! say your say, for don't you see 
When the church-clock yonder tolls out 
Three, 

You are all to be shot ? 
— What? 
i Excuse you one moment?' O, ho, ho ! 
Do you think to fool a gen d'armes so ? " 

" But, sir, here's a watch that a friend, one 

day, 
(My father's friend) just over the way, 
Lent me ; and if you let me free — 
It still lacks seven minutes of Three — 
I'll come on the word of a soldier's son, 
Straight back into line, when my errand's 

done." 

" Ha, ha ! No doubt of it ! Off! Begone ! 
(Now, good St. Dennis, speed him on ! 
The work will be easier since he's saved ; 
For I hardly see how I could have braved 
The ardor of that innocent eye, 

As he stood and heard, 

While I gave the word, 
Dooming him like a dog to die.) " 

"In time ? Well, thanks, that my desire 
Was granted ; and now I'm ready ; — Fire 

One word ! — that's all ! 
— You'll let me turn my back to the wall ? " 

" Parbleu ! Come out of the line, I say, 
Come out ! (Who said that his name was 

Ney?) 
Ha ! France will hear of him yet, one 

day! " 

Margaret J. Prkston. 



HEN ALWAYS FIT FOR FREEDOM. 

THERE is only one cure for the evils which 
newly-acquired freedom produces, — 
and that cure is freedom ! When a pris- 
oner leaves his cell, he cannot bear the light 
of day ; he is unable to discriminate colors, 
or recognize faces ; but the remedy is not to 



9 6 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



remand him into his dungeon, but to accus- 
tom him to the rays of the sun. The blaze 
of truth and liberty may at first dazzle and 
bewilder nations which have become half 
blind in the house of bondage ; but let them 
gaze on, and they will soon be able to bear 
it. In a few years men learn to reason ; the 
extreme violence of opinion subsides ; hos- 
tile theories correct each other ; the scat- 
tered elements of truth cease to conflict, and 
begin to coalesce ; and, at length, a system 
of justice and order is educed out of the 
chaos. Many politicians of our time are in 
the habit of laying it down as a self-evident 
proposition, that no people ought to be free 
till they are fit to use their freedom. The 
maxim is worthy of the fool in the old 
story, who resolved not to go into the water 
till he had learned to swim ! If men are to 
wait for tiberty till they become wise and 
good in slavery they may, indeed, wait for- 
ever ! T. B. MacauIvY. 



NAPOLEON'S FAREWELL TO HIS ARMY 
AT FONTAINEBLEAU, 1814. 

Soldiers ! receive my adieu. During 
twenty years that we have lived 
together, I am satisfied with you. I 
have always found you in the paths of 
glory. All the powers of Europe have 
armed against me. Some of my generals 
have betrayed their trust and France. My 
country herself has wished another destiny : 
with you, and the other brave men who 
have remained true to me, I could have 
maintained a civil war : but France would 
have been unhappy. 

Be faithful to your new king. Be sub- 
missive to your new generals ; and do not 
abandon our dear country. Mourn not 
my fortunes. I shall be happy while I am 
sure of your happiness. I might have 
died ; but if I have consented to live, it is 
still to serve your glory ; I shall record 
now the great deeds which we have done 
together. 

Bring me the eagle standard ; let me 
press it to my heart. Farewell, mychildren, 
my hearty wishes go with you. Preserve 
me in your memories. 

Napoleon Bonaparte. 



INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP. 

You know we French stormed Ratisbon ; 
A mile or so away, 
On a little mound, Napoleon 
Stood on our storming-day ; 
With neck out- thrust, you fancy how, 

Legs wide, arms locked behind, 
As if to balance the prone brow, 
Oppressive with its mind. 

Just as perhaps he mused, " My plans 

That soar, to earth may fall, 
Let once my army-leader Lannes 

Waver at yonder wall ' ' — 
Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew 

A rider, bound on bound 
Full galloping ; nor bridle drew 

Until he reached the mound . 

Then off there flung in smiling joy, 

And held himself erect 
By just his horse's mane, a boy : 

You hardly could suspect 
(So tight he kept his lips compressed, 

Scarce any blood came through), 
You looked twice ere you saw his breast 

Was all but shot in two. 

"Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's 
grace, 

We've got you Ratsibon ! 
The marshal's in the market place, 

And you'll be there anon 
To see your flag-bird flap his vans 

Where I, to heart's desire, 
Perched him ! ' ' The chief's eye flashed ; 
his plans 

Soared up again like fire. 

The chief's eye flashed ; but presently 

Softened itself, as sheathes 
A film the mother eagle's eye 

When her bruised eaglet breathes : • 
"You're wounded ! " " Nay," his soldier's 
pride 

Touched to the quick, he said : 
"I'm killed, sire ! " And, his chief beside, 

Smiling, the boy fell dead. 

Robert Browning. 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



97 



THE QUEEN OF PRUSSIA'S RIDE. 

Should be spoken with rapidity. The speaker in excited 
manner indicates by gesture and attitude the flight of the Queen. 
The circumstance in history may be referred to by the speaker 
before reciting the poem as follows : The Queen of Prussia was 
present when her army was routed by Napoleon at the Battle of 
Jena, 1807. She was mounted on a superb charger attended by 
three or four escorts, when a band of hussars seeing her, rushed 
forward to capture the royal lady, pursuing her all the way to 
Weimar. Had not the charger which she rode possessed a fleet- 
ness unequalled by any in the pursuing band, the fair Queen 
would have been made a prisoner. 

Fair Queen, away ! To thy charger 
speak — 
A band of hussars they capture seek. 
Oh, haste ! escape ! they are riding this 

way. 
Speak — speak to thy charger without delay ; 

They're nigh. 
Behold ! They come at a break-neck pace, 
A smile triumphant illumes each face. 
Queen of the Prussians, now for a race, 
To Weimar for safety — fly ! 

She turned, and her steed with a furious 

dash — 
Over the fields like the lightning's flash — 

fled. 

Away, like an arrow from steel cross-bow, 

Over hill and dale in the sun's fierce glow, 

The Queen and her enemies thundering go. 

On toward Weimar they sped. 

The royal courser is swift and brave, 
And his royal rider he strives to save — 

But no ! 
" Vive Vempereur!" rings sharp and clear; 
She turns and is startled to see them so 

near, 
Then softly speaks in her charger's ear 

And away he bounds like a roe. 

He speeds as though on the wings of the 

wind, 
The Queen's pursuers are left behind. 

No more 
She fears, though each trooper grasps his 

reins, 
Stands up in his stirrups, strikes spurs and 

strains, 
For ride as they may, her steed still gains 
And Weimar is just before. 

Safe ! The clatter now fainter grows ; 
She sees in the distance her laboring foes, 
The gates of the fortress stand open wide 
To welcome the German nation's bride so 
dear. 



With gallop and dash, into Weimar she 

goes, 
And the gates at once on her enemies close. 
Give thanks, give thanks ! She is safe with 
those 

Who hail her with cheer on cheer ! 
A. L. A. Smith. 



MARCO BOZZARIS. 

This poem has been pronounced the best martial lyric in the 
language. Marco Bozzaris (pronounced Bot-zah-ri) fell in his 
attack upon the Turkish camp at Lapsi, August 20, 1823, and 
expired in the moment of victory. Kitz-Green Halleck, the 
author of this famous poem, is an American. 

AT midnight, in his guarded tent, 
The Turk was dreaming of the 
hour 
When Greece, her kiiee in suppliance bent, 

Should tremble at his power : 
In dreams, through camp and court he bore 
The trophies of a conqueror ; 

In dreams, his song of triumph heard ; 
Then wore his monarch's signet ring : 
Then pressed that monarch's throne — a 

king; 
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, 
As Eden's garden bird. 

At midnight, in the forest shades, 

Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band, 
True as the steel of their tried blades, 

Heroes in heart and hand. 
There had the Persian's thousands stood, 
There had the glad earth drunk their blood 

On old Platsea's day ; 
And now there breathed that haunted air 
The sons of sires who conquered there, 
With arm to strike, and soul to dare, 

As quick, as far as they. 

An hour passed on — the Turk awoke ; 

That bright dream was his last ; 
He woke to hear his sentries shriek, 
' ' To arms ! they come ! the Greek ! the 

Greek!" 
He woke — to die midst flame, and smoke, 
And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke, 

And death-shots falling thick and fast 
As lightnings from the mountain- cloud ; 
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, 

Bozzaris cheer his band : 
' ' Strike — till the last armed foe expires ; 
Strike — for your altars and your fires ; 
Strike — for the green graves of yonr sires: 

God, and your native land ! " 



9 8 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



They fought, — like brave men, long and 
well ; 

They piled that ground with Moslem slain ; 
They conquered — but Bozzaris fell, 

Bleeding at every vein. 
His few surviving comrades saw 
His smile when rang their proud hurrah , 

And the red field was won : 
Then saw in death his eyelids close 
Calmly, as to a night's repose, 

Like flowers at set of sun. 

Bozzaris ! with the storied brave, 

Greece nurtured in her glory's time, 
Rest thee — there is no prouder grave, 

Even in her own proud clime. 
She wore no funeral weeds for thee, 

Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume, 
Like torn branch from death's leafless tree, 
In sorrow's pomp and pageantry, 

The heartless luxury of the tomb : 
But she remembers thee as one 
Long loved and for a season gone. 
For thee her poets' lyre is wreathed, 
Her marble wrought, her music breathed : 
For thee she rings the birthday bells ; 
Of thee her babes' first lisping tells : 
For thine her evening prayer is said 
At palace couch, and cottage bed ; 
Her soldier, closing with the foe, 
Gives for thy sake a deadlier blow ; 
His plighted maiden, when she fears 
For him, the joy of her young years, 
Thinks of thy fate, and checks her tears. 

And she, the mother of thy boys, 
Though in her eye and faded cheek 
Is read the grief she will not speak, 

The memory of her buried joys, 
And even she who gave thee birth, 
Will, by their pilgrim-circled hearth, 

Talk of thy doom without a sigh : 
For thou art freedom's now, and fame's, 
One of the few, the immortal names 

That were not born to die. 

Fitz-Green Halleck. 



CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE* 

Half a league, half a league, 
Half a league onward, 
All in the valley of death 

Rode the six hundred. 
" Forward, the Light Brigade! 
Charge for the guns ! " he said. 



Into the valley of death, 
Rode the six hundred. 

" Forward, the Light Brigade!' 
Was there a man dismayed ? 
Not though the soldiers knew 

Some one had blundered : 
Theirs not to make reply, 
Theirs not to reason why, 
Theirs but to do and die ; 
Into the valley of death, 

Rode the six hundred. 

Cannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left of them, 
Cannon in front of them, 

Volleyed and thundered : 
Stormed at with shot and shell, 
Boldly they rode and well : 
Into the jaws of death, 
Into the mouth of hell, 

Rode the six hundred. 

Flashed all their sabres bare, 
Flashed as they turned in air, 
Sab 'ring the gunners there, 
Charging an army, while 

All the world wondered : 
Plunged in the battery smoke, 
Right through the line they broke 
Cossack and Russian 
Reeled from the sabre-stroke, 

Shattered and sundered. 
Then they rode back — but not, 

Not the six hundred. 

Cannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left of them, 
Cannon behind them, 

Volleyed and thundered. 
Stormed at with shot and shell, 
While horse and hero fell, 
They that had fought so well, 
Came through the jaws of death, 
Back from the mouth of hell, 
All that was left of them, 

Left of six hundred. 

When can their glory fade ? 
O, the wild charge they made ! 

All the world wondered. 
Honor the charge they made ! 
Honor the Light Brigade, 

Noble six hundred ! 

Alfred Tennyson. 



k 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



99 



OBJECTION TO THE MEXICAN WAR. 

In opposing the Mexican War Daniel Webster uttered the 
following words against expansion of territory: 

Sir, to speak more seriously, this war was 
waged for the object of creating new 
States on the southern frontier of the 
United States out of Mexican territory, and 
with such population as could be found resi- 
dent thereupon. I have opposed this object. 
I am against all accessions of territory to 
form new States. And this is no matter of 
sentimentality, which I am to parade before 
mass-meetings or before my constituents at 
home. It is not a matter with me of declama- 
tion or of regret, or of expressed repugnance. 
It is a matter of firm unchangeable purpose. 
I yield nothing to the force of circumstances 
that have occurred, or that I can consider 
as likely to occur. And therefore I say, 
sir, that if I were asked to-day whether, 
for the sake of peace, I would take a treaty 
for adding two new states to the Union on 
our southern border, I would say No ! — 
distinctly, No ! And I wish every man in 
the United States to understand that to be 
my judgment and my purpose. 

I said upon our southern border, because 
the present proposition takes that locality. 
I would say the same of the western, the 
northeastern, or of any other border. I 
resist to-day, and for ever, and to the end, 
any proposition to add any foreign territory, 
south or west, north or east, to the States 
of this Union as they are constituted and 
held together under the constitution. Sir, 
I see well enough all the adverse indica- 
tions. But I am sustained by a deep and a 
conscientious sense of duty ; and while 
supported by that feeling, and while such 
great interests are at stake, I defy auguries, 
and ask no omen but my country's cause. 

D. Webster. 



GUSTAVUS VASA TO THE DALECARLIANS. 

Christian II., King of Denmark, having made himself master 
of Sweden, confined Gustavus at Copenhagen ; but he, making 
his escape, contrived to reach the Dalecarlian mountains, where 
he was for sometime hidden. Having seized a favorable oppor- 
tunity, he declared himself to the peasants, whom he incited 
to join his cause. Fortune befriended him, and in the year 1523 
he gained the throne of Sweden. 

SWEDES ! countrymen ! behold at last, 
after a thousand dangers past, your 
chief, Gustavus, here. Long have I 
sighed 'mid foreign bands, long have I 
roamed in foreign lands; — at length 'mid 



Swedish hearts and hands, I grasp a Swedish 
spear! Yet, looking forth, although I see 
none but the fearless and the free, sad 
thoughts the sight inspires ; for where, I 
think, on Swedish ground, save where these 
mountains frown around, can that best 
heritage be found — the freedom of our sires ? 
— Yes, Sweden pines beneath the yoke ; 
the galling chain our fathers broke is round 
our country now ! On perjured craft and 
ruthless guilt his power a tyrant Dane has 
built, and Sweden's crown, all blood-bespilt 
rests on a foreign brow. 

On you your country turns her eyes — 
on you, on you, for aid relies, scions of 
noblest stem ! The foremost place in rolls 
of fame, by right your fearless fathers 
claim ; yours is the glory of their name — 
'tis yours to equal them. — As rushing down, 
when winter reigns, resistless to the shak- 
ing plains, the torrent tears its way, and all 
that bars its onward course sweeps to the 
sea with headlong force, — so swept your 
sires the Danes and Norse : — can ye do less 
than they f 

Rise ! re-assert your ancient pride, and 
down the hills a living tide of fiery valor 
pour. Let but the storm of battle lower, 
back to his den the foe will cower ; — then, 
then shall Freedom's glorious hour strike 
for our land once more ! What ! silent — 
motionless, ye stand ? Gleams not an eye ? 
Moves not a hand ? Think ye to fly your 
fate? Or till some better cause be given, 
wait ye? — Then wait ! till, banished, driven, 
ye fear to meet the face of Heaven , till ye 
are slaughtered, wait ! 

But no ! your kindling hearts gainsay 
the thought. Hark ! Hear that blood- 
hound's bay ! Yon blazing village see ! 
Rise, countrymen ! Awake ! Defy the 
haughty Dane ! Your battle cry be Free- 
dom ! We will do or die ! On ! Death 
or victory ! 

THE BABY AND THE SOLDIERS. 

From time immemorial the fondness of the soldier for chil- 
dren has been marked. The following incident is but one of 
thousands embalmed in literatur. 

Rough and ready the troopers ride, 
Great bearded men, with swords by 
side ; 
They have ridden long, they have ridden 
hard, 



LrfC 



loo 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



They are travel-stained and battle-scarred ; 
The hard ground shakes with their martial 

tramp, 
And coarse is the laugh of the men in camp. 

They reach the spot where the mother 

stands 
With a baby clapping its little hands, 
Laughing aloud at the gallant sight 
Of the mounted soldiers fresh from the fight. 
The Captain laughs out: "I'll give you 

this, 
A handful of gold, your baby to kiss." 

Smiles the mother : "A kiss can't be sold, 
But gladly he'll kiss a soldier bold." 
He lifts the baby with manly grace 
And covers with kisses its smiling face, 
Its rosy lips and its dimpled charms, 
And it crows with delight in the soldier's 
arms. 

' ' Not all for the Captain , ' ' the soldiers call ; 
" The baby, we know, has one for all." 
To the soldiers' breasts the baby is pressed 
By the strong, rough men, and by turns 

caressed, 
And louder it laughs, and the mother fair, 
Smiles with mute joy as the kisses they 

share. 

"Just such a kiss," cries one trooper grim, 
' ' When I left my boy I gave to him ; ' ' 
"And just such a kiss on the parting day 
I gave to my girl as asleep she lay." 
Such were the words of the soldiers brave, 
And their eyes were moist as the kiss they 
gave. 



ON THE FORCE BILL. 

For what purpose is the unlimited control 
of the purse and of the sword to be 
placed at the disposition of the execu- 
tive ? To make war against one of the free 
and sovereign members of this confedera- 
tion, which the bill proposes to deal with, 
not as a State, but as a collection of banditti 
or outlaws ; thus exhibiting the impious 
spectacle of this government, the creature 
of the States, making war against the power 
to which it owes its existence 



Do I say that the bill declares war against 
South Carolina ? No ! It decrees a massa- 
cre of her citizens ! War has something 
ennobling about it, and, with all its horrors, 
brings into action the highest qualities, 
intellectual and moral. It was, perhaps, in 
the order of Providence, that it should be 
permitted for that very purpose. But this 
bill declares no war, except, indeed, it be 
that which savages wage; a war, not against 
the community, but the citizens of whom 
that community is composed. But I regard 
it as worse than savage warfare — as an 
attempt to take away life, under the color 
of law, without the trial by jury, or any 
other safeguard which the constitution has 
thrown around the life of the citizen ! It 
authorizes the President, or even his depu- 
ties, when they may suppose the law to be 
violated, without the intervention of a court 
or jury, to kill without mercy or discrimi- 
nation. 

It has been said, by the senator from 
Tennessee, to be a measure of peace ! Yes, 
such peace as the wolf gives to the lamb, 
the kite to the dove ! Such peace as Russia 
gives to Poland, or death to its victim ! 
A peace by extinguishing the political 
existence of the State, by awing her into 
an abandonment of the exercise of every 
power which constitutes her a sovereign 
community ! It is to South Carolina a 
question of self-preservation ; and I pro- 
claim it, that, should this bill pass, nd an 
attempt be made to enforce it, it will be 
resisted at every hazard — even that of death 
itself! 

Death is not the greatest calamity ; there 
are others, still more terrible to the free and 
brave, and among them may be placed the 
loss of liberty and honor. There are 
thousands of her brave sons who, if need 
be, are prepared cheerfully to lay down 
their lives in defense of the State, and the 
great principles of constitutional liberty for 
which she is contending. God forbid that 
this should become necessary ! It never 
can be, unless this government is resolved 
to bring the question to extremity; when 
her gallant sons will stand prepared to per- 
form the last duty — to die nobly ! 

John C. Calhoun. 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



IOT 



PEACEABLE SECESSION IMPOSSIBLE. 

This eloquent and prophetic passage from a speech delivered 
by Daniel Webster many years before the great Civil War, was 
fulfilled with fearful accuracy. 

Mr. President, I should much prefer 
to have heard from every member on 
this floor declarations of opinion that 
this Union could never be dissolved, than 
the declaration of opinion by any body that, 
in any case, under the pressure of any cir- 
cumstances, such a dissolution was possible. 
I hear with distress and anguish the word 
"secession," especially when it falls from 
the lips of those who are patriotic, and 
known to the country, and known all over 
the world for their political services. 

Secession ! Peaceable secession ! Sir, 
your eyes and mine are never destined to 
see that miracle. The dismemberment of 
this vast country without convulsion ! The 
breaking up of the fountains of the great 
deep without ruffling the surface ! Who is 
so foolish — I beg everybody's pardon — as to 
expect to see any such thing ? 

Sir, he who sees these States now revolv- 
ing in harmony around a common center, 
and expects to see them quit their places 
and fly off without convulsion, may look 
the next hour to see the heavenly bodies 
rush from their spheres, and jostle against 
each other in the realms of space, with- 
out causing the crush of the universe. 
There can be no such thing as a peace- 
able secession. Peaceable secession is 
an utter impossibility. Is the great consti- 
tution under which we live, covering this 
whole country , is it to be thawed and melted 
away by secession, as the snows on the 
mountain melt under the influence of a ver- 
nal sun, disappear almost unobserved, and 
run off? No, sir ! No, sir ! I will not state 
what might produce the disruption of the 
Union ; but, sir, I see as plainly as I see the 
sun in heaven, what that disruption itself 
must produce ; I see that it must produce 
war, and such a war as I will not describe, 
in its two-fold character. D. WKBSTKR. 



erty and dedicated to the proposition that 
all men are created equal. 

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, 
testing whether that nation, or any nation 
so conceived and so dedicated, can long 
endure. We are met on a great battlefield 
of that war. We have come to dedicate a 
portion of that field as a final resting place 
for those who here gave their lives that that 
nation might live. It is altogether fitting 
and proper that we should do this. 

But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedi- 
cate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hal- 
low this ground. The brave men, living 
and dead, who struggled here, have conse- 
crated it far above our poor power to add or 
detract. The world will little uote, nor 
long remember, what we say here, but it can 
never forget what they did here. It is for 
us, the living, rather to be dedicated here 
to the unfinished work which they who 
fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. 
It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the 
great task remaining before us : that from 
the same honored dead we take increased 
devotion to that cause for which they gave 
the last full measure of devotion ; that we 
here highly resolve that these dead should 
not have died in vain; that this nation, 
under God, shall have a new birth of free- 
dom, and that government of the people, by 
the people, for the people, shall not perish 
from the earth. Abraham Lincoln. 



LINCOLN'S ADDRESS AT GETTYSBURG. 

The War Department appropriated $5,000 to cast this speech 
in bronze and set it up on the battle-fietld atGettysburg. 

Four score and seven years ago our 
fathers brought forth on this con- 
tinent a new nation, conceived in lib- 



THE RIFLEMAN'S FANCY SHOT. 

The following touching incident had its counterpart in many 
happenings during the great Civil War in which often brothers, 
divided in sentiment, joined the opposing armies and fought 
against each other. 

Rifleman, shoot me a fancy shot 
Straight at the heart of yon prowling 
vedette ; 
Ring me a ball in the glittering spot 
That shines on his breast like an amulet ! " 

" Ah, captain ! here goes for a fine-drawn 

bead, 
There's music around when my barrel's in 

tune ! " 
Crack ! went the rifle, the messenger sped, 
And dead from his horse fell the ringing 

dragoon. 



102 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



" Now, rifleman, steal through the bushes 

and snatch 
From your victim some trinket to handsel 

first blood ; 
A button, a loop, or that luminous patch 
That gleams in the moon like a diamond 

stud! " 

" Oh captain ! I staggered, and sunk on my 

track, 
When I gazed on the face of that fallen 

vedette, 
For he looked so like you, as he lay on his 

back, 
That my heart rose upon me, and masters 

me yet. 

' ' But I snatched off the trinket, — this locket 

of gold ; 
An inch from the centre my lead broke its 

way, 
Scarce grazing the picture, so fair to behold, 
Of a beautiful lady in bridal array." 

"Ha! rifleman, fling me the locket! — 'tis 

she, 
My brother's young bride, — and the fallen 

dragoon 
Was her husband — Hush ! soldier, 'twas 

Heaven's decree, 
We must bury him there, by the light of the 

moon ! 

1 ' But hark ! the far bugles their warnings 

unite ; 
War is a virtue, — weakness a sin ; 
There's a lurking and loping around us 

to-night ; — 
Load again, rifleman, keep your hand in ! " 



AN INCIDENT OF THE WAR. 

{Sing the verses in Italics. ) 

Down the placid river gliding, 
'Twixt the banks of waving life, 
Sailed a steamboat heavy laden 
'Mid the scenes of former strife. 

On the deck a throng of trav'lers 
Listened to a singer's voice, 

As it sung that song of pleading, — 
Song that makes the sad rejoice. — 



' 'Jesus, lover of my soul, 

Let vie to thy bosom fly. 
While the nearer waters roll, 

While the tempest still is high : 
Hide me, O, my Saviour, hide, 

' Till the storm of life is past, 
Safe into the haven guide, 

Oh, receive my soul at last. ' ' 

In the throng an aged soldier 

Heard the voice with ears intent, 

And his quickened memory speeding 
O'er the lapse of years was sent. 

And he thought of hard-fought battles. 

Of the carnage and the gore, 
And the lonely picket guarding 

On the low Potomac's shore. 

Of the clash and roar of cannon, 
And the cry of wounded men, 

Of the sick'ning sights of slaughter 
In some Southern prison pen. 

And that voice was old, familiar, 
And he'd heard it long ago. 

While his lonely picket guarding 
With a measured beat, and slow. 

When it ceased and all was silent, 
Thus the aged soldier cried : 

" Sir, were you a Union Soldier, 
Did you fight against our side ? ' ' 

" Stranger, 'neath yon starry pennon 
Fought I for the shackled slave, 

For my country and her freedom, 
And her sacred name to save." 

' ' Were you near the calm Potomac 
On a frosty autumn night ? 

Did you guard your lonely picket 
As the stars were shining bright ? 

" Did you sing that song so grandly, 

Filling all the silent air ? 
Did you sing to your Redeemer 

As you paced so lonely there ? ' ' 

Thus the aged soldier questioned, 
And his eyes were filled with tears 

As he heard the singer answer, 
At his tale of hopes and fears : 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



103 



" Yes, I well recall that evening 
On the low Potomac's shore, 

As I paced, my lonely station, 
And re-paced it o'er and o'er. 

"And I thought of home and household, 
Of my wife and children three, 

And my darling baby Bessie, 
Dearest in the world to me. 

" Thinking thus, my heart was troubled 
With a dread, foreboding ill ; 

And I listened, but the midnight 
All around was calm and still. 

" Then I sang the song my mother 
Taught me, bending at her knee ; 

And all fear of coming trouble 
Quickly passed away from me." 

Thus the singer told his story ; 

Then the aged soldier said, — 
As his heart was stirred with feeling, 

And his thoughts were backward led,— 

" And I, too, my lonely station 
Paced and re-paced o'er and o'er, 

Where the blazing camp-fires flashing, 
Lighted up the other shore. 

"On the banks, across the river, 
There I saw your coat of blue, 

And my hand was on the trigger, 
As I aimed my gun at you ; 

' ' When across the silent water 

Came the song you've sung to-day, 

And my heart was touched and softened 
By that sweet, melodious lay : 

" ' Other refuge have I none, 

Hangs my helpless soul on Thee; 
Leave, oh, leave me not alone, 

Still support and comfort me. 
All my trust on Thee is stayed, 

All my help from Thee I bring, 
Cover my defenceless head 

With the shadow of Thy wing. y 

* ' And I brought my gun to carry, 
For I could not shoot you then ; 

And your humble prayer was answered 
By our God, the Lord of men." 



Then they clasped their hands as brothers, 
While the steamboat glided on 

As they talked of hard-fought battles, 
And of deeds long past and gone, — 

How Jehovah had been o'er them, 

Shielded from the fiery wave, 
While they, beneath their banners, 

Fought the battles of the brave. 

Harry W. Kimball. 



SHERIDAN'S RIDE. 

This is one of the most famous poem's of the Civil War. It 
recounts with dramatic power Sheridans famous ride of Oct. 
19, 1864, to Cedar Creek, where General Early was driving back 
the Union forces. 

p from the South at break of day, 
Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay, 
The affrighted air with a shudder 
bore, 
herald in haste to the chieftain's 



u 



Like 



door, 



The terrible grumble and rumble and roar, 
Telling the battle was on once more, 
And Sheridan twenty miles away. 

And wider still those billows of war 
Thundered along the horizon's bar; 
And louder yet into Winchester rolled 
The roar of that red sea uncontrolled, 
Making the blood of the listener cold, 
As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, 
And Sheridan twenty miles away. 

But there is a road from Winchester town, 
A good, broad highway leading down ; 
And there, through the flush of the morn- 
ing light, 
A steed as black as the steeds of night 
Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight, 
As if he knew the terrible need : 
He stretched away with his utmost speed ; 
Hills rose and fell ; but his heart was gay, 
With Sheridan fifteen miles away. 

Still sprung from those swift hoofs, thunder- 
ing South, 

The dust, like smoke from the cannon's 
mouth, 

Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and 
faster, 

Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster, 

The heart of the steed and the heart of the 
master 






io4 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



Were beating like prisoners assaulting their 

walls, 
Impatient to be where the battlefield calls ; 
Every nerve of the charger was strained to 

full play, 
With Sheridan only ten miles away» 

Under his spurning feet the road 
Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed, 
And the landscape sped away behind 
Iyike an ocean flying before the wind ; 
And the stead, like a bark fed with furnace 

ire, 
Swept on, with his wild eyes full of fire. 
But lo ! he is nearing his heart's desire ; 
He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring 

fray, 
With Sheridan only five miles away. 



WRAP THE FLAG AROUND HE, BOYS. 

This scene may be enacted on the stage in tableau, while an 
invisible speaker recites the words, and an invisible chorus sings 
the refrain. 



0, 



wrap the flag around me, boys, to 
die were far more sweet 
With freedom's starry emblem, boys, 
to be my winding sheet. 
In life I loved to see it wave, and follow 

where it led, 
And now my eyes grow dim, my hands 
would clasp its last bright shred. 

Refrain. 

Then wrap the flag around me, boys, 

To die were far more sweet, 
With freedom's starry emblem, boys, 

To be my winding sheet. 



The first that the general saw were the °» 1 had thought to greet you, boys, on 

groups many a well won field, 

Of stragglers, and then the retreating Whe f *> on * St ^ ry ^ anr \f> boyS ' the 



troops ; 



trait 'rous foe should yield. 



What was done? what to do ? a glance told Bllt no ™' alaS ' 1 am denied my deareSt 
him both. earthly prayer ; 

Then, striking his spurs, with a terrible You ' U f 01 , 1 ,™ a ? d y° u ' U meet the f ° e ' bllt 
' oath 5 F ' I shall not be there. 

He dashed down the line, 'mid a storm of 

huzzahs, 
And the wave of retreat checked its course 

there, because 
The sight of the master compelled it to 

pause. 
With foam and with dust the black charger 

was gray ; 
By the flash of his eye, and the red nostril's 

play, 



But though my body moulders, boys, my 

spirit will be free, 
And every comrade's honor, boys, will still 

be dear to me. 
There in the thick and bloody fight never 

let your ardor lag, 
For I'll be there still hovering near, above 

the dear old flag. 



He seemed to the whole great army to say, 
' ' I have brought you Sheridan all the way 
From Winchester, down to save the day." 
Hurrah ! hurrah for Sheridan ! 
Hurrah ! hurrah for horse and man ! 
And when their statues are placed on high, 
Under the dome of the Union sky — 
The American soldier's temple of fame — 
There, with the glorious general's name, 
Be it said, in letters both bold and bright, 

"Here's the steed that saved the day, 
By carrying Sheridan into the fight 

From Winchester, twenty miles away ! " 

Thos. B. Read. 



THE BLUE AND THE GRAY. 

One of the first marks of reconciliation between North and 
South was shown by the women of Columbus, Mississippi, who, 
animated by noble sentiments, made impartial offerings to the 
memory of the dead. They strewed flowers alike on the graves 
of the Confederate and of the National soldiers. 



B 



y the flow of the inland river, 

Whence the fleets of iron have fled, 
Where the blades of the grave-grass 
quiver, 
Asleep on the ranks of the dead : — 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; 
Under the one, the Blue, 
Under the other, the Gray. 







OLD LOVE LETTERS 

(Suggestion for Tableau) 



<105) 




— o 
0.2 

DW 

Q. v 

2-1 

UJT3 a 

i °.2 

Jo'3 
rt ^ 

<r 

r- v 

<s 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



107 



These in the robings of glory, 

Those in the gloom of defeat, 
All with the battle-blood gory, 
In the dusk of eternity meet : — 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; 
Under the laurel, the Blue, 
Under the willow, the Gray. 

From the silence of sorrowful hours, 

The desolate mourners go, 
Lovingly laden with flowers, 

Alike for the friend and the foe : — 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; 
Under the roses, the Blue, 
Under the lilies, the Gray. 

So, with an equal splendor, 

The morning sun-rays fall, 
With a touch impartially tender, 

On the blossoms blooming for all : — 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; 
Broidered with gold, the Blue, 
Mellowed with gold, the Gray. 

So, when the summer calleth, 
On forest and field of grain, 
With an equal murmur falleth 
The cooling drip of the rain : — 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; 
Wet with the rain, the Blue, 
Wet with the rain, the Gray. 

Sadly, but not with upbraiding, 

The generous deed was done ; 

In the storm of the years that are fading, 

No braver battle was won : — 

Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; 
Under the blossoms, the Blue, 
Under the garlands, the Gray. 

No more shall the war cry sever, 
Or the winding rivers be red ; 
They banish our anger forever 

When they laurel the graves of our dead 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; 
Love and tears, for the Blue, 
Tears and love for the Gray. 

F. M. Finch. 



THE NEW ROSETTE. 

By Special Permission of the Author. 

Thirty-one years after the close of the Civil War, Sept. 16, 
1896, a reunion of the Union and Confederate soldiers was held 
at Washington, D. C. It was a happy meeting of old foes who 
admired each other. They were brothers in common national 
blood and it is but just to say they parted — more than friends — 
brothers in sentiment. None but the old soldier could fully 
appreciate the occasion or with him enter into its true felicity of 
it. Love and good cheer ruled the hour. A new rosette com- 
posed of the mingling colors of "Yankee blue and Confederate 
gray" was worn by the happy old soldiers. Mr. Geo. M. Vick- 
ers, himself a "Yankee soldier," composed the following poem 
which was recited amid great applause from both sides. 

LET us sing a song 
That all may hear ; 
Sound the death of wrong, 
The knell of fear ; 
For in this cordial clasp of hands 
America united stands. 
The new rosette 

Of Blue and Gray, 
Without regret, 
Is worn to-day. 

Fire the signal gun, 

Proclaim our creed ; 
Liberty has won, 

And we are freed ; 
Our country's creed is liberty, 
And freedom shall our watchword be ; 
The new rosette 

Of Blue and Gray, 
Move's amulet, 
Shall be to-day. 

Ring the bells with pride, 

The brave are here ; 
Heroes true and tried, 

And each a peer ; 
Their deeds and valor e'er shall be 
Our caveat on land and sea. 
The new rosette 

Of Blue and Gray, 
A pledge, a threat, 
Is worn to-day. 

Give the armies praise, 

Of Grant, of Lee, 
Shafts in honor raise, 

That all may see ; 
Proclaim that as they did, so we 
Would do and die for liberty ; 
The new rosette 

Of Blue and Gray 
Bids none forget 
Their dead to-day. 



io8 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



Let the broadsides roar 

From ship to ship ; 
Shout your cheers from shore, 

Let colors dip ; 
Brave Farragut, Buchanan, too, 
Showed what our gallant tars can do. 
The new rosette 

Of Blue and Gray, 
Shall homage get 
From all to-day. 

Give thanks to God, 

That we are one ; 
He withholds the rod, 

Our strife is done ; 
One flag alone shall o'er us wave, 
One country, or for each a grave. 
The new rosette 

Of Blue and Gray, 
With love's tears wet 
Is worn to-day. 

Geo. M. Vickkrs. 



CUSTER'S LAST CHARGE. 

Gen. George A. Custer. Born in Ohio in I839. Served with 
distinction through the Civil War. Was present at General 
Lee's surrender. During the Indian outbreak in the West in 
1876 he was in charge of the United States troops, and Was 
noted for his sagacity in Indian fighting. The Indians feared 
him, and called him the Great Yellow-Haired Chief. He was 
entrapped, killed, and horribly mutilated by the savages, June 
26, 3876. 

i cTAead ! Is it possible ? He, the bold 
.LJ rider, 

Custer, our hero, the first in the 
fight, 
Charming the bullets of yore to fly wider, 
Shunning our battle-king's ringlets of 
light ! 
Dead ! our young chieftain, and dead all 
forsaken ! 
No one to tell us the way of his fall ! 
Slain in the desert, and never to waken, 
Never, not even to victory's call ! " 

Comrades, he's gone ; but ye need not be 
grieving. 
No, may my death be like his when I die ! 
No regrets wasted on words I am leaving, 
Falling with brave men, and face to the 
sky. 
Death's but a journey, the greatest must 
take it : 
Fame is eternal, and better than all. 



Gold though the bowl be, 'tis fate that 
must break it, 
Glory can hallow the fragments that fall. 

Proud for his fame that last day that he met 
them ! 
All the night long he had been on their 
track. 
Scorning their traps and the men that had 
set them, 
Wild for a charge that should never give 
back. 
There on the hill-top he halted and saw 
them, — 
Lodges all loosened and ready to fly. 
Hurrying scouts, with the tidings to awe 
them, 
Told of his coming before he was nigh. 

All the wide valley was full of their forces, 
Gathered to cover the lodges' retreat, — 
Warriors running in haste to their horses, 
Thousands of enemies close to his feet ! 
Down in the valleys the ages had hollowed, 
There lay the Sitting Bull's camp for a 
prey ! 
Numbers ! What recked he ? What recked 
those who followed ? 
Men who had fought ten to one ere that 
day ? 

Out swept the squadrons, the fated three 
hundred, 
Into the battle-line steady and full ; 
Then down the hillside exultingly thun- 
dered, 
Into the hordes of the Old Sitting Bull ! 
Wild Ogalallah, Arapahoe, Cheyenne, 
Wild Horse's braves, and the rest of their 
crew, 
Shrank from that charge like a herd from a 
lion. 
Then closed around the great hell of wild 
Sioux. 

Right to the centre he charged, and then, 
facing — 
Hark to those yells ? and around them, 
oh, see ! 
Over the hilltops the devils came racing, 
Coming as fast as the waves of the sea ! 
Red was the circle of fire about them : 
No hope of victory, no ray of light, 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



109 



Shot through that terrible black cloud 

without them, 
Brooding in death over Custer's last fight. 

Then, did he blench ? Did he die like a 
craven, 
Begging the torturing fiends for his liie ? 
Was there a soldier who carried the Seven 
Flinched like a coward or fled from the 
strife ? 
No, by the blood of our Custer, no 
quailing ? 
There in the midst of the devils they 
close, 
Hemmed in by thousands, but ever assail- 
ing, 
Fighting like tigers, all bayed amid foes ! 

Thicker and thicker the bullets came 
singing ; 
Down go the horses and riders and all ; 
Swiftly the warriors round them were 
ringing 
Circling like buzzards awaiting their fall. 
See the wild steeds of the mountain and 
prairie, 
Savage eyes gleaming from forests of 
mane ; 
Quivering lances with pennons so airy ; 
War-painted warriors charging amain. 

Backward again and again they were driven, 
Shrinking to close with the lost little 
band, 
Never a cap that had worn the bright 
Seven 
Bowed till its wearer was dead on the 
strand. 
Closer and closei the death-circle growing, 

Even the leader's voice, clarion clear. 
Rang out his words of encouragement 
glowing, 
"We can but die once, boys, but sell 
your lives dear ! ' ' 

Dearly they sold them like Berserkers 
raging, 
Facing the death that encircled them 
round ; 
Death's bitter pangs by their vengeance 
assuaging, 
Marking their tracks by the dead on the 
ground. 



Comrades our children shall yet tell their 
story, 
Custer's last charge on the Old Sitting 
Bull ; 
And ages shall swear that the cup of his 
glory, 
Needed but that death to render it full. 

Frederick Whitaker. 



FITZHUGH LEE. 



General Fitzhugh Lee was Consul at Havana when the Span- 
ish-American War broke out. His heroic action in refusing to 
leave his post though ordered home, until every American sub- 
ject was safely transported, being himself the last to depart, 
called forth universal praise. 

Cool amid the battle's din 
Ice without, but fire within, 
Leading to the charge his men, 
Much we praise the soldier then ; 
But we honor far the more 
One who on a foreign shore, 
True to duty takes his stand 
With his country's flag in hand, 
And, though great the peril be, 
Bows no head and bends 110 knee — 
Fitzhugh Lee. 

Gallant veteran, tried and true, 
Hands and hearts go forth to you. 
'Mid the sounds that others stir, 
Hiss of reptile, yelp of cur, 
'Mid our country's foes you stood 
With a calm and fearless mood. 
Therefore, veteran, tried and true, 
Strong our pride has grown in you ; 
And when you return o'er sea 
Warm your welcome here shall be, 
Fitzhugh Lee. 

Where our mountains milk the sky, 

Where our many cities lie, 

By Potomac's hallowed stream ; 

Where the Hudson's waters gleam, 

By the Mississippi's mouth, 

East and West and North and South— 

Whersoe'er o'er land and seas, 

Floats Old Glory in the breeze, 

Whereso'er our people be, 

All to honor you agree, 

Fitzhugh Lee. 

Thomas Dunn English. 



no 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



PROPHETIC TOAST TO COMMODORE 
DEWEY. 

In November, 1897, at the suggestion ot the Assistant Secretary 
of the Navy, Theodore Roosevelt, George Dewey was made a 
Commodore and ordered to take charge of the Asiatic squadron, 
which afterwards destroyed the Spanish fleet at Manila. Dewey 
was a popular member of the Metropolitan Club, Washington, 
and just before his departure a reception was given at which the 
following toast was offered and received with enthusiasm. In the 
light of later events, it has been regarded as a happy prophecy, 
the fulfillment of which entitles the ines to preservation. 

FILL all your glasses full to-night ; 
The wind is off the shore ; 
And be it feast or be it fight, 
We pledge the Commodore. 

Through days of storm, through days of 
calm, 

On broad Pacific Seas, 
At anchor off the Isles of Palm , 

Or with the Japanese ; 

Ashore, afloat, on deck, below, 

Or where our bulldogs roar, 
To back a friend or breast a foe 

We pledge the Commodore. 

We know our honor'll be unstained, 

Where'er his pennant flies ; 
Our rights respected and maintained, 

Whatever power defies. 

And when he takes the homeward tack, 

Beneath an admiral's flag, 
We'll hail the day that brings him back, 

And have another jag. 



A 



THE BATTLE OF MANILA BAY. 

T break of dawn Manila Bay 

A sheet of limpid water lay, 
Extending twenty miles away. 



Twenty miles from shore to shore, 
As creeping on a squadron bore 
As squadron never moved before, 

Majestic in his hidden might, 
It passed Corregidor at night, 
Inspired to battie for the right. 

And grandly on the flagship led, 
Six ships — Olympiae'er ahead — 
With battle flags at each masthead 

The Baltimore and Raleigh true, 
The Petrel, Boston, Concord, too, 
Their flags of glory proudly flew. 



As early daylight broke upon 
The bay — before the rise of sun — 
Was seen the flash of opening gun ! 

Then every second heard the roar 
Of shell and shrapnel bursting o'er 
Our brave ; undaunted Commodore ! 

" Hold our fire ! " he calmly said, 
As from the bridge he bravely led 
To death or glory on ahead ! 

And from his lips or from his hand 
But one direction, one command, 
" Follow the flagship by the land," 

Full twenty minutes slowly crept 
Ere lightning from our turrets leapt, 
And pent-up hell no longer slept ! 

The Spanish fleet, a dozen strong, 
Was now in range, and haughty wrong 
Was swept by awful fire along. 

Explosions wild destruction brought 
'Mid flames that mighty havoc wrought, 
As either side in fury fought. 

So back and forth in angry might, 

The Stars and Stripes waved on the fight, 

'Mid bursting shells in deadly flight ! 

The Spanish decks with dead were strewn, 
Their guns on shore were silenced soon, 
Their flags were down ere flush of noon. 

Their ships, their batteries on the shore 
Were gone to fight again no more — 
Their loss, a thousand men or more ! 

Dawned on the fleet that Dewey led 
A miracle, while Spaniards bled ; 
For on our side was not one dead ! 

The battle of Manila Bay 

From mind shall never pass away — 

Nor deeds of glory wrought that day. 

For 'mid the battle's awful roar 
The Spanish pride, to rise no more 
Was humbled by our Commodore. 

Corwin P. Ross. 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



in 



THEY'LL NEVER GET HOME. 

Reciter may Dress in Uncle Sam Costicme. 

When it was learned that Admiral Cervera had left the Cape 
Verde Islands with the flower of the Spanish Navy in May, 1898, 
the United States became much alarmed lest he should attack 
some of the cities along our Atlantic seaboard, or take possession 
of important Cuban ports. It was therefore decided that Admi- 
rals Sampson and Schley should attempt to intercept him some- 
where on the high seas and destroy his fleet. For many days the 
hunt went on, much like a fox chase, in the Caribbean sea. At 
last Schley reported that he had found the Spanish fleet in Sant- 
iago harbor. Sampson joined him before the mouth of the har- 
bor, and after more than a month's siege, Cervera's fleet was 
entirely destroyed by the Americans. The following lines are 
supposed to illustrate Uncle Sam's jubilation when Admiral 
Schley announced that he had Cervera bottled up. 

By gosh ! but we've got 'em — in old 
Santiago 
Cervery is bottled — the news is from 
Schley. 
I know 'd- mighty well we would get that 
there dago 
And cork him in tight, in the sweet by- 
and-by. 
Things looked purty bilious some days, I'll 
admit it, 
And clouds sorter hung round the Capitol 
dome 
Till Schley's message came, an' 'twas this 
way he writ it : — 
" I've got 'em," he says, " an' they'll 
never git home." 

By ginger ! it sounded like music fer 
sweetness ! 
I jest got right up an' give three rousin' 
cheers 
It had such neatness an' sorter completeness 

It seem' to fit into my hungerin' ears. 
I could jest shet my eyes an' see Schley's 
boats a-layin' 
Kinder peaceful out there where the blue 
billows foam ; 
I could listen a minute and hear him a 
sayin ' 
" I've got 'em, b' gosh ! an' they'll never 
git home." 

Course the next thing, I s'pose, '11 be some 
sort 'o fighting, 
(That cussed Cervery won't give up a 
ship), 
An' he'll try to get out of the place he's so 
tight in. 
But the Commydore'll see he don't give 
us the slip. 
ThatPole-dee-Barnaby gang made us weary, 



An' we got some disgusted with Seenyor 

De Lome, 
But I'm sorter attached to that feller 

Cervery, 
An' we've got him 'b gosh ! an' he'll 

never git home. 



THE WAR SHIP "DIXIE." 

They've named a cruiser "Dixie" — 
that's what the papers say — 
An' I hears they're goin' to man her 
with boys that wore the gray ; 
Good news ! It sorter thrills me and makes 

me want ter be 
Whar' the ban' is playin' "Dixie," and 
the ' ' Dixie ' ' puts ter sea ! 

They've named a cruiser "Dixie." An' 

fellers, I'll be boun' 
You're goin' ter see some fightin' when 

the ' ' Dixie ' ' swings aroun ' ! 
Ef any o' them Spanish ships shall strike 

her, East or West, 
Just let the ban' play "Dixie," an' the 

boys '11 do the rest ! 

I want ter see that ' ' Dixie ' ' — I want ter 

take my stan' 
On the deck of her and holler, ' ' Three 

cheers fer Dixie Ian'!" 
She means we're all united — the war hurts 

healed away. 
An' "Way Down South in Dixie" is 

national to-day ! 

I bet you she's a good un ! I'll stake my 

last red cent 
Thar ain't no better timber in the whole 

blame settlement ! 

An' all their shiny battleships beside that 

ship are tame, 
Fer when it comes to "Dixie" thar's 

something in a name ! 

Here's three cheers and a tiger — as hearty 

as kin be ; 
An' let the ban' play " Dixie" when the 

' ' Dixie ' ' puts ter sea ! 
She'll make her way an' win the day from 

shinin' East ter West — 
Jest let the ban' play "Dixie," and the 

boys '11 do the rest ! 

Frank L. Stanton. 



112 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



THE NEW "ALABAMA." 

One of the largest battleships of the American Navy. The 
following poem was written by a southerner during the Spanish 
American War. 

Thar's a bran new "Alabama" that 
they're fittin' out for sea, 
An' them that's seen her tell me she's 
as lively as kin be ; 
An' them big Havana gin 'nils better open 

wide their gates 
Kf she's any like her namesake of the old 
Confed'rit States ! 

A bran' new "Alabama!" She orter be 

the best 
That ever plowed a furrow in the ocean — 

east or west ! 
An' I'm shore that she'll be heard from — 

jest open wide your gates 
Ef she's any like her namesake of the old 

Confed'rit States ! 

I bet she's full o' sperrit ! I bet her guns 

'11 keep 
The Spanish cruisers huntin' fer a harbor 

on the deep ! 
She'll storm the forts an' take 'em — she'll 

batter down the gates 
Kf she's any like her namesake of the old 

Confed'rit States ! 



THE "MERRIMAC." 

On June 3rd, young Lieutenant Hobson of Alabama and 
eight volunteer seamen performed one of the most daring and 
heroic acts in history, by running the " Merrimac " through the 
gauntlet of Spanish forts and finking it in the mouth of Santiago 
harbor to prevent the Spanish fleet from coming out. The ship 
in sinking unfortunately swung out of the channel far enough 
to leave room for ships to pass, but the deed was none the less 
daring and heroic. 

Thunder peal and roar and rattle of the 
ships in line of battle, 
Rumbling noise of steel volcanoes 
hurling metal from the shore, 
Drowned the sound of quiet speaking and 
the creaking, creaking, creaking 
Of the steering-gear that turned her 
toward the narrow harbor door. 

On the hulk was calm and quiet, deeper for 
the shoreward riot ; 
Dumb they watched the fountains 
streaming ; mute they heard the 
waters hiss, 
Till one laughed and murmured, " Surely 
it was worth while rising early 
For a fireworks exhibition of such char- 
acter as this." 



Down the channel the propeller drove her 
as they tried to shell her 
From the dizzy heights of Morro and 
Socapa parapet ; 
She was torn and she w T as battered, and 
her upper works were shattered 
By the bursting of the missiles that in 
air above her met. 

Parallels of belching cannon marked the 
winding course she ran on, 
And they flashed through morning dark- 
ness like a giant's flaming teeth ; 
Waters steaming, boiling, churning ; rows 
of muzzles at each turning ; 
Mines like geysers spouting after and 
before her and beneath. 

Not a man was there who faltered ; not a 
theory was altered 
Of the detailed plan agreed on — not a 
doubt was there expressed ; 
This was not a time for changing, deviat- 
ing, re-arranging ; 
L,et the great God help the wounded, and 
their courage save the rest. 

And they won. But greater glory than the 
winning is the story 
Of the foeman's friendly greeting of that 
valiant captive band ; 
Speech of his they understood not, talk to 
him in words they could not ; 
But their courage spoke a language that 
all men might understand. 



"DO NOT CHEER." 

General O. O. Howard, the great Christian general on the 
Northern side and General Stonewall Jackson the pious hero of 
the Confederacy, have their counterparts in Captain Philip of 
the battleship "Texas," at the battle of Santiago, July 4, 1898. 
No ship in that great naval battle did more gallant service than 
the "Texas." When the victory was won and the decks were 
strewn with dying and wounded Spaniards rescued from burn- 
ing ships and from the sea the sailors of the "Texas" prepared to 
cheer. Captain Philip stopped them with the words, "Don't 
cheer, boys, the poor fellows are dying. Let every man who 
believes in God join with me in prayer." It was a most affect- 
ing scene. 

The smoke hangs heavy o'er the sea, 
Beyond the storm-swept battle line, 
Where floats the flag of Stripes and 
Stars, 
Triumphant o'er the shattered foe, 
The walls of Morro thunder still their fear; 
Helpless, a mass of flame, the foeman drifts, 
And o'er her decks the flag of white. 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



113 



Hushed voices pass the word from lip to 

lip, 
And grimy sailors silent stand beside the 

guns, 
"Cease firing. An enemy is dying. Do 

not cheer." 

" An enemy is dying. Do not cheer." 
Thy servants' glorious tribute to Thy name, 
Christ, Lord, who rules the battle well, 
Who, watching, guards our destinies, 
Andseeth e'en the sparrows fall. 
Redly, through drifting smoke, the sun 

looks down 
On silent guns and shot-pierced bloody 

wreck, 
Long lines of weary men , with heads bowed 

low, 
Give thanks, in presence of Thy reaper 

grim. 
Thy will be done, O Lord, Thou rulest all. 
J. Herbert Stevens. 



THE HERO DOWN BELOW. 

After the battle of Santiago in which the "Brooklyn," Commo- 
dore Schley's flagship and the, mighty "Oregon"' had chased the 
"Christobal Colon" for 60 miles and forced her to surrender, the 
generous hearted Commodore sent down for the engineers and 
firemen who for hours had remained in the dark bowels of the 
ship in a temperature of 120 degrees piling in coal and forcing 
the ship to her greatest speed. The almost naked men begrimed 
as black as Ethiopians appeared on deck ; and with tears in his 
eyes Commodore Schley pointed his gunners and officers to 
them and exclaimed : " These are the heroes, they are the men 
who won this battle." 

IN the awful heat and torture 
Of the fires that leap and dance 
In and out the furnace doors that never 
close, 
On in silence he must work, 
For with him there's ne'er a chance 
On his brow 1o feel the outer breeze that 
blows. 

For they've locked him in a room, 

Down below, 
In a burning, blazing tomb, 

Down below, 
Where he cannot see the sky, 
Cannot learn in time to fly, 
When destruction stalketh nigh, 

Down below. 

Though his name is never mentioned, 

Though we see or know him not, 
Though his deeds may never bring him 
worldy fame, 



He's a man above the others 
And the bravest of the lot — 
And the hero of the battle, just the same. 
He's the man who does the work. 

Down below, 
From the labor does not shirk, 

Down below, 
He is shoveling day and night, 
Feeding flames a-blazing bright, 
Keeping up a killing fight 

Down below. 



WHEELER AT SANTIAGO. 

General Joseph Wheeler, of Spanish American War fame, won 
the sobriquet of " Little Fighting Joe," while serving in the 
Confederate army during the Civil War. He was the first, and 
General Fitzhugh Lee the second officer from the Southern side, 
of that great conflict to enlist in the Spanish-American War. 
Wheeler contributed much to the success of the battle of Santi- 
ago though prostrated with fever at the time. 

Into the thick of the fight he went, pallid 
and sick and wan, 
Borne in an ambulance to the front, a 
ghostly wisp of a man ; 
But the fighting soul of a fighting man, 

approved in the long ago, 
Went to the front in that ambulance, and 
the body of Fighting Joe. 

Out from the front they were coming back, 

smitten of Spanish shells — ■ 
Wounded boys from the Vermont hills and 

the Alabama dells ; 
' ' Put them into this ambulance ; I'll ride to 

the front," he said, 
And he climbed to the saddle and rode right 

on, that little old ex-Confed. 

From end to end of the long blue ranks rose 

up the ringing cheers, 
And many a powder- blackened face was 

furrowed with sudden tears, 
As with flashing eyes and gleaming sword, 

and hair and beard of snow, 
Into the hell of shot and shell rode little old 

Fighting Joe ! 

Sick with fever and racked with pain, he 

could not stay away, 
For he heard the song of the yester-years in 

the deep-mouthed cannon's bay — 
He heard in the calling song of the guns 

there was work for him to do, 
Where his country's best blood splashed 

and flowed 'round the old Red, White 

and Blue. 



H4 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



Fevered body and hero heart ! This Union's 

heart to you 
Beats out in love and reverence — and to 

each dear boy in blue 
Who stood or fell 'mid the shot and shell, 

and cheered in the face of the foe, 
As, wan and white, to the heart of the fight 

rode little old Fighting Joe ! 

James Lindsay Gordon. 



DIXIE DOODLE. 



A century of peace has dawned ; the 
North and South are plighted, 
And all their lovers' quarrels have 
been forever righted. 
There is no North, there is no South, no 

Johnny Reb to bandy ; 
No feud, no scores to settle up — no Yankee 
Doodle Dandy. 

What have we, then ? A land serene, united, 

heart-to-hand, sir, 
Which, like a sum of numbers, never yields 

but one true answer, 
Who have we, then, in this great land, 

above its bonded boodle, 
With Northern pluck and Southern nerve ? 

His name is Dixie Doodle ! 

Then, hip, hurrah ! for this brave youth, 
unbought of bond or boodle — 

The conqueror of future worlds — the grow- 
ing Dixie Doodle ! 



THE GREATER REPUBLIC. 

Extract from the speech of Senator Albert J. Bevendge of 
Indiana, delivered after a personal visit to the Philippine Islands 
before the Union League of Philadelphia. 

Gentlemen of the Union League : 
The Republic never retreats. 
Why should it retreat? The Re- 
public is the highest form of civilization, 
and civilization must advance. The Re- 
public's young men are the most virile and 
unwasted of the world and they pant for 
enterprise worthy of their power. The 
Republic's preparation has been the self-dis- 
cipline of a century and that preparedness 
has found its task. The Republic's oppor- 
tunity is as noble as its strength, and that 
opportunity is here. The Republic's duty 
is as sacred as its opportunity is real, and 
Americans never desert their duty. 



The Republic could not retreat if it 
would ; whatever its destiny it must pro- 
ceed. For the American Republic is a part 
of the movement of a race — the most mas- 
terful race of history — and race movements 
are not to be stayed by the hand of man. 
They are mighty answers to Divine com- 
mands. Their leaders are not only states- 
men of peoples — they are prophets of God. 
The inherent tendencies of a race are its 
highest law. They precede and survive all 
statutes, all constitutions. The first ques- 
tion real statesmanship asks is : What are 
the abiding characteristics of my people ? 
From that basis all reasoning may be 
natural and true. From any other basis all 
reasoning must be artificial and false. 

The sovereign tendencies of our race are 
organization and government. Organiza- 
tion means growth. Government means 
administration. When Washington pleaded 
with the States to organize into a con- 
solidated people, he was the advocate of 
perpetual growth. When Abraham Lin- 
coln argued for the indivisibility of the 
Republic he became the prophet of the 
Greater Republic. And when they did 
both they were but interpreters of the ten- 
dencies of the race. That is what made 
then Washington and Lincoln. They are 
the great Americans because they were the 
supreme constructors and conservers of 
organized government among the American 
people. 

God did not make the American people 
the mightiest human force of all time simply 
to feed and die . He did not give our race the 
brain of organization and heart of domain 
to no purpose and no end. No ; he has 
given us a task equal to our talents. He 
has appointed for us a destiny equal to our 
endowments. He has made us the Lords 
of civilization that we may administer civ- 
ilization. Such administration is needed in 
Cuba. Such administration is needed in 
the Philippines. And Cuba and the Philip- 
pines are in our hands. 

All protests against the greater Repub- 
lic are tolerable except this constitutional 
objection. But they who resist the Repub- 
lic's career in the name of the Constitution 
are not to be endured. They are jugglers 
of words. Their counsel is the wisdom of 




QUEEN LOUISE AND HER SON 

'' The boy will be what mother makes him " 
(Suggestion for Tableau) 



(H5) 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



117 






verbiage. They deal not with realities 
neither give heed to vital things. The 
most magnificent fact in history is the 
mighty movement and mission of our race, 
and the most splendid phase of that world- 
redeeming movement is the entrance of the 
American people as the greatest force in all 
the earth to do their part in administering 
civilization among mankind, and they are 
not to be halted by a ruck of words called 
constitutional arguments. Pretenders to 
legal learning have always denounced all 
virile interpretations of the Constitution. 

L,et the Republic govern as conditions 
demand ; the Constitution does not benumb 
its brain nor palsy its hand. 

Imperialism is not the word for our 
vast work. Imperialism, as used by the 
opposers of the national greatness, means 
oppression, and we oppress not. Imperial- 
ism, as used by the opposers of national 
destiny, means monarchy, and the days ol 
monarchy are spent. Who honestly believes 
that the liberties of 80,000,000 Americans 
will be destroyed because the Republic 
administers civilization in the. Philippines ? 
Who honestly believes that free institutions 
are stricken unto death because the Repub- 
lic, under God, takes its place as the first 
power of the world ? Who honestly believes 
that we plunge to our doom, when we march 
forward in a path of duty, prepared by a 
higher wisdom than our own ? Those who 
so believe have lost their faith in the immor- 
tality of liberty. Those who so believe 
have lost the reckoning of events, and 
think it sunset when it is, in truth, only 
the breaking of another day — the day of 
the Greater Republic, dawning as dawns 
the twentieth century. 

Th^ Republic never retreats. Its flag 
is the only flag that has never known defeat. 
Where the flag leads we follow, for we 
know that the hand that bears it onward is 
the unseen hand of God. We follow the 
flag and independence is ours. We follow 
the flag and nationality is ours. We follow 
the flag and oceans are ruled. We follow 
the flag and, in Occident and Orient 
tyranny falls and barbarism is subdued. 
We follow the flag at Trenton and Valley 
Forge, at Saratoga and upon the crimson 
^eas, at Buena Vista and Chapul tepee, at 



Gettysburg and Missionary Ridge, at Sant- 
iago and Manila, and everywhere and 
always it means larger liberty, nobler 
opportunity and greater human happiness, 
for, everywhere and always, it means the 
blessings of the Greater Republic. And so 
God leads, we follow the flag, and the 
Republic never retreats. ' ' 



BOUND IN HONOR TO GRANT PHILIPPINE 
INDEPENDENCE. 

Extract from a speech delivered by Senator Hoar of Massa- 
chusetts in the United States Senate, April, 1900. 

Senators, if there were no Constitution, 
if there were no Declaration of Inde- 
pendence, if there were no interna- 
tional law, if there were nothing but the 
history of the past two years, the American 
people would be bound in honor, if there 
be honor, bound in common honesty, if 
there be honesty, not to crush out this 
Philippine Republic, and not to wrest from 
this people its independence. The history 
of our dealing with the Philippine people 
is found in the reports of our commanders. 
It is all contained in our official documents, 
and in published statements of General 
Anderson and in the speeches of the Presi- 
dent. It is little known to the country 
to-day. When it shall be known, I believe 
it will cause a revolution in public senti- 
ment. 

There are 1200 islands in the Philippine 
group. They extend as far as from Maine 
to Florida. They have a population vari- 
ously estimated at from 8,000,000 to 
12,000,000. There are wild tribes who 
never heard of Christ, and islands that 
never heard of Spain. But among them 
are the people of the island of Luzon, 
numbering 3,500,000, and the people of the 
Visayan islands, numbering 2,500,000 more. 
They are a Christian and civilized people. 
They wrested their independence from 
Spain and established a republic. Their 
rights are no more to be affected by the few 
wild tribes in their own mountains or by the 
dwellers in the other islands than the rights 
of our old thirteen states were affected by 
the French in Canada, or the Six Nations 
of New York, or the Cherokees of Georgia, 
or the Indians west of the Mississippi. 



n8 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



Twice our commanding generals, by 
their own confession, assured these people 
of their independence. Clearly and beyond 
all cavil we formed an alliance with them. 
We expressly asked them to co-operate with 
us. We handed over our prisoners to their 
keeping ; we sought their help in caring for 
our sick and wounded. 

We were told by them again and again 
and again that they were fighting for inde- 
pendence. Their purpose was as well 
known to our generals, to the w 7 ar depart- 
ment, and to the president, as the fact that 
they were in arms. We never undeceived 
them until the time when hostilities were 
declared in 1899. The president declared 
again and again that we had no title and 
claimed no right to anything beyond the 
town of Manila. Hostilities were begun 
by us at a place w 7 here we had no right to 
be, and w r ere continued by us in spite of 
Aguinaldo's disavowal and regret and offer 
to withdraw to a line w T e should prescribe. 
If we crush that republic, despoil that 
people of their freedom and independence, 
and subject them to our rule, it will be a 
story of shame and dishonor. 

George F. Hoar. 



NO DISHONOR TO HAUL DOWN THE FLAG. 

{A Continuation of the Foregoing.} 

IS there any man so bold as to utter in 
seriousness the assertion that where the 
American flag has once been raised it 
shall never be hauled down ? I have heard 
it said that to haul down or to propose to 
haul down this national emblem where 
it has once floated is poltroonery. Will 
any man say it was poltroonery when Paul 
Jones landed on the northeast coast of Eng- 
land that he took his flag away with him 
when he departed ? Was Scott a poltroon , 
or was Polk a poltroon? Was Taylor a 
poltroon ? Was the United States a nation 
of poltroons when they retired from the city 
of Mexico or from Vera Cruz without leav- 
ing the flag behind them ? Were we pol- 
troons when we receded from Canada ? If 
we had made the attack on the coast ot 
Spain, at one time contemplated during this 
very war, were we pledged to hold and gov- 
ern Spain forever or be disgraced in the eyes 



of mankind if we failed to do it ? Has Eng- 
land been engaged in the course of poltroon- 
ery all these years when she has retired from 
many a field of victory ? According to this 
doctrine, she was bound to have held Bel- 
gium forever after the battle of Waterloo 
and Spain forever after Corunna and Tala- 
vera. She could not, of course, have retired 
with honor from Venezuela if the arbitration 
had not ended in her favor. 

Mr. President, this talk that the Ameri- 
can flag is never to be removed where it has 
once floated is the silliest and wildest rhe- 
torical flourish ever uttered in the ears of an 
excited populace. No baby ever said any- 
thing to another baby more foolish. It 
is the doctrine of purest ruffianism and 
tyranny. 

Certainly the flag should never be lowered 
from any moral field over which it has once 
waved. To follow the flag is to follow the 
principles of freedom and humanity for 
which it stands. To claim that we must 
follow it when it stands for injustice or 
oppression is like claiming that w r e must 
take the nostrums of the quack doctor who 
stamps it on his wares, or follow every 
scheme of wickedness or fraud, if only the 
flag be put at the head of the prospectus. 
The American flag is in more danger from 
the imperialists than it would be if the whole 
of Christendom were to combine its power 
against it. Foreign violence at worst could 
only rend it. But these men are trying to 
stain it. 

THE STARS IN THEIR COURSES 
FIGHT AGAINST US. 

Mr. President, I know how imperfectly I 
have stated this argument. I know how 
feeble is a single voice amid this din and 
tempest, this delirium of empire. It may be 
that the battle of this day is lost. But I 
have an assured faith in the future. I have 
an assured faith in justice and the love of 
liberty of the American people. The stars 
in their courses fight for freedom. The 
ruler of the heavens is on that side. If the 
battle to-day go against it, I appeal to 
another day, not distant and sure to come. 
I appeal from the clapping of hands and 
the stamping of feet and the brawling and 
the shouting to the quiet chamber where the 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



119 



fathers gathered in Philadelphia. I appeal 
from the spirit of trade to the spirit of 
liberty. I appeal from the empire to the 
Republic. I appeal from the millionaire and 
the boss and the wire-puller and the mana- 
ger to the statesman of the older time, in 
whose eyes a guinea never glistened, who 
lived and died poor, and who left to his 
children and to his countrymen a good name 
far better than riches, I appeal from the 
present, bloated with material prosperity, 
drunk with the lust of empire, to another 
and a better age. I appeal from the present 
to the future and to the past. 

G. F. Hoar. 

THE DYING CAPTAIN. 

An incident of the battle of San Juan Hill, Cuba, 1898. It 
requires considerable practice to perfect oneself in the proper 
expression in the quick transitions from consciousness to 
delirium, and the parts played in the two conditions. This 
selection is very effective when well rendered. 

i i T)rave captain ! canst thou speak ? 
±J What is it thou dost see ! 

A wondrous glory lingers on thy 
face, 
The night is past ; I've watched the night 
with thee. 

Knowest thou the place ?" 

" The place? 'Tis San Juan, comrade. Is 
the battle over ? 
The victory — the victory — is it won ? 
My wound is mortal ; I know I cannot 
recover — 

The battle for me is done ! 

' ' I never thought it would come to this ! 
Does it rain ? 
The musketry ! Give me a drink ; ah, 
that is glorious ! 
Now if it were not for this pain — this 
pain — 

Didst thou say victorious ? 

"It would not be strange, would it, if I 
do wander ? 
A man can't remember with a bullet 
in his brain. 
I wish when at home I had been a little 
fonder — 

Shall I ever be well again ? 

' ' It can make no difference whether I go 
from here or there. 



Thou It write to father and tell him 
when I am dead ? — 
The eye that sees the sparrow fall numbers 
every hair 

Even of this poor head. 

"Tarry awhile, comrade, the battle can 
wait for thee ; 
I will try to keep thee but a few brief 
moments longer ; 
Thou 'It say good-by to the friends at 
home for me ? — 

If only I were a little stronger ! 

" I must not think of it. Thou art sorry 
for me ? 
The glory — is it the glory ? — makes me 
blind ; 
Strange, for the light, comrade, the light 
I cannot see — 

Thou hast been very kind ! 

" I do not think I have done so very much 
evil — 
I did not mean it. 'I lay me down to 
sleep, 
I pray the Lord nry soul ' — just a little 
rude and uncivil — 

Comrade, why dost thou weep ? 

' ' Oh ! if human pity is so gentle and 
tender — 
Good -night, good friends ! ' I lay me 
down to sleep ' — 
Who from a Heavenly Father's love 
needs a defender ? 
' My soul to keep ! ' 

" ' If I should die before I wake ' — comrade, 
tell mother, 
Remember — ' I pray the Lord my soul 
to take!' 
My musket thou 'It carry back to my little 
brother 

For my dear sake ! 

"Attention, company! Reverse arms! 
Very well, men ; my thanks. 
Where am I ? Do I wander, comrade — 
wander again ? — 
Parade is over. Company E, break ranks ! 
break ranks ! — 

I know it is the pain. 



120 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



! ' Give me thy strong hand ; fain would 
I cling, comrade, to thee ; 
I feel a chill air blown from a far-off 
shore ; 
My sight revives ; Death stands and looks 
at me. 

What waits he for ? 

" Keep back my ebbing pulse till I be 
bolder grown ; 
I would know something of the Silent 
Land ; 
It's hard to struggle to the front alone — 
Comrade, thy hand. 

"The reveille calls! be strong my soul, 
and peaceful ; 
The Eternal City bursts upon my sight ! 
The ringing air with ravishing melody is 
full— 

I've won the fight ! 

"Nay, comrade, let me go; hold not my 
hand so steadfast ; 
I am commissioned — under marching 
orders — 
I know the future — let the past be past — 
/ cross the borders. ' ' 



THE LAND OF OUR FOREFATHERS. 

For myself, I can truly say that, after 
my native land, I feel a tenderness and 
a reverence for that of my fathers. 
The pride I take in my own country makes 
me respect that from which we are sprung. 
The sound of my native language beyond 
the sea is a music to my ears beyond the 
richest strains of Tuscan softness or Castil- 
ian majesty. 

I am not — I need not say I am not — the 
panegyrist of England. I am not dazzled 
by her riches nor awed by her power. The 
sceptre, the mitre and the coronet, stars, 
garters and ribbons, seem to me poor things 
for great men to contend for. 

But England is the cradle and the refuge 
of free principles, though often persecuted ; 
the school of religious liberty, the more 
precious for the struggles through which it 
has passed ; she holds the tombs of those 
who have reflected honor on all who speak 
the English tongue ; she is the birthplace 



of our fathers, the home of the Pilgrims ; it 
is these which I love and venerate in Eng- 
land. 

I should feel ashamed of an enthusiasm 
for Italy and Greece did I not also feel it 
for a land like this . In an American it would 
seem to me degenerate and ungrateful to 
hang with passion upon the traces of Homer 
and Virgil and follow without emotion the 
nearer and plainer footsteps of Shakespeare 
and Milton. I should think him cold in 
love for his native land who felt no melting 
in his heart for that other native country 
which holds the ashes of his forefathers. 

Edward Evkrett. 



WAR THE GAHE OF TYRANTS. 

Hark ! heard you not those hoofs of 
dreadful note ? 

Sounds not the clang of conflict on 
the heath ? 
Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote, 
Nor saved your brethren ere they sank 

beneath 
Tyrants and tyrants' slaves? — The fires 
of death, 
The bale-fires flash on high : — from rock to 
rock, 
Each volley tells that thousands cease to 
- breathe ; 
Death rides upon the sulphury Siroc, 
Red Battle stamps his foot, and nations feel 
the shock ! 

L,o ! where the giant on the mountain 

stands, 

His blood -red tresses deepening in the 

sun, 

With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands, 

And eye that scorcheth all it glares 

upon ; 
Restless it rolls, now fixed, and now 
anon 
Flashing afar, — and at his iron feet 

Destruction cowers to mark what deeds 
are done ; 
For, on this morn, three potent nations 

meet 
To shed before his shrine the blood he 
deems most sweet. 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



121 



Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice ; 
Three tongues prefer strange orisons on 
high ; 
Three gaudy standards flout the pale blue 
skies ; 
The shouts are France, Spain, Albion, 

Victory ! 
The foe, the victim, and the fond al-ly' 
That fights for all, but ever fights in vain, 
Are met — as if at home they could not 
die — 
To feed the crow on Tal-a-ve'ra's plain, 
And fertilize the field that each pretends to 
gain. 

There shall they rot — ambition's honored 
fools ! 
Yes, honor decks the turf that wraps 
their claj^ ! 
Vain sophistry ! in these behold the tools, 
The broken tools, that tyrants' cast away 
By myriads, when they dare to pave their 
way 
With human hearts — to what ? — a dream 
alone. 
Can despots compass aught that hails 
their sway ? 
Or call with truth one span of earth their 

own, 
Save that wherein at last they crumble 
bone by bone ? Byron. 



VALLEY FORGE. 

Suitable to Washington 's Birthday or Any Patri- 
otic Entertainment . 

The following oration was delivered upon the occasion of the 
first Centennial Anniversary of the encampment at Valley Forge. 

My countrymen, the century that has 
gone by has changed the face of 
nature and wrought a revolution in 
the habits of mankind. We stand to-day at 
the dawn of an extraordinary age. Freed 
from the chains of ancient thought and 
superstition, man has begun to win the most 
extraordinary victories in the domain of 
science. One by one he has dispelled the 
doubts of the ancient world. Nothing is too 
difficult for his hand to attempt — no region 
too remote — no place too sacred for his dar- 
ing eye to penetrate. He has robbed the 
earth of her secrets and sought to solve the 
mysteries of the heavens. He has secured 
and chained to his service the elemental 



forces of nature — he has made the fire his 
steed — the winds his ministers — the seas his 
pathway — the lightning his messenger. He 
has decended into the bowels of the earth, 
and walked in safety on the bottom of the 
sea. He has raised his head above the 
clouds, and made the impalpable air his 
resting-place. He has tried to analyze the 
stars, count the constellations and weigh 
the sun. He has advanced : with such 
astounding speed that, breathless, we have 
reached a moment when it seems as if dis- 
tance had been annihilated, time made as 
naught, the invisible seen, the inaudible 
heard, the unspeakable spoken, the intangi- 
ble felt, the impossible accomplished. And 
already we knock at the door of a new cen- 
tury which promises to be infinitely brighter 
and more enlightened and happier than this. 
But in all this blaze of light which illumi- 
nates the present and casts its reflection into 
the distant recesses of the past, there is not 
a single ray which shoots into the future. 
Not one step have we taken toward the solu- 
tion of the mystery of life. That remains as 
dark and unfathomable as it was ten thous- 
and years ago. 

We know that we are more fortunate than 
our fathers. We believe that our children 
shall be happier than we. We know that 
this century is more enlightened than the 
last. We believe that the time to come will 
be better and more glorious than this. 
We think, we believe, we hope, but we do 
not know. Across that threshold we may 
not pass ; behind that veil we may not pene- 
trate. Into that country it may not be for 
us to go. It may be vouchsafed to us to 
behold it, wonderingly, from afar, but never 
to enter in. It matters not. The age in 
which we live is but a link in the endless and 
eternal chain. Our lives are like the sands 
upon the shore ; our voices like the breath 
of this summer breeze that stirs the leaf for 
a moment and is forgotten. Whence we 
have come and whither we shall go, not one 
of us can tell. And the last survivor of 
this mighty multitude shall stay but a little 
while. 

But in the impenetrable To Be, the end- 
less generations are advancing to take our 
places as we fall. For them as for us shall 
the earth roll on and the seasons come and 



122 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



go, the snowflakes fall, the flowers bloom, 
and the harvests be gathered in. For them 
as for us shall the sun, like the life of man, 
rise out of darkness in the morning and sink 
into darkness in the night. For them as for 
us shall the years march by in the sublime 
procession of the ages. And here, in this 
place of sacrifice, in this vale of humiliation, 
in this valley of the shadow of that Death 
out of which the life of America arose, 
regenerate and free, let us believe with an 
abiding faith that, to them, union will seem 
as dear, and liberty as sweet, and progress 
as glorious, as they were to our fathers and 
are to you and me, and that the institutions 
which have made us happy, preserved by 
the virtue of our children, shall bless the 
remotest generations of the time to come. 
And unto Him who holds in the hollow of 
His hand the fate of nations, and yet marks 
the sparrow's fall, let us lift up our hearts 
this day, and into His eternal care commend 
ourselves, our children, and our country. 

H. A. Brown. 



THE MAN WHO DOES THE CHEERIN'. 

This war with Spain reminds me o' the 
spring o' '61, 
About the time or jist afore the Civil 
War begun ; 
A certain class o' heroes ain't remembered 

in this age, 
Yit their names in golden letters should be 

writ on histry's page. 
Their voices urged on others to save this ol' 

country's fall ; 
I admit they never listened when they heerd 

Abe Lincoln's call ; 
They never heerd a eagle scream er heerd a 

rifle crack, 
But you bet they done the cheerin' 
When the troops come back. 

O' course it's glorious to fight when free- 
dom is at stake, 

I 'low a feller likes to know that he hez 
helped to make 

Another star in freedom's sky — the star o' 
Cuby — free ! 

But still another feelin' creeps along o' that 
when he 

Gits to thinkin' o' the home he left en 
seein' it at night 



Dancin' slowlike up aroun' him in a misty 

maze o' light. 
En a-ketchiu' fleetin' glimpses of a crowd 

along the track, 
En the man who does the cheerin ' 
When the troops come back. 

O' course a soldier hez got feelin 's en his 

heart begins to beat 
Faster, ez ol' reckollection leads him down 

some shady street 
Where he knows a gal's a-waitin' under- 
neath a creepin' vine, 
Where the sun is kinder cautious 'bout 

combatin' with the shine 
In her eyes — en jist anuther thing that 

nuther you er I 
Could look at with easy feelin 's is a piece o' 

pumpkin pie 
That hez made our mothers famous — but 

down there along the track 
Is the man who does the cheerin' 

When the troops come back. 

It's jist the same in war times ez in com- 
mon ev'ry day, 
When a feller keeps a-strugglin' en a-peg- 

gin' on his way, 
He likes to hev somebody come and grab 

him by the hand, 
En say: "01' boy, you'll git there yit; 

you've got the grit en sand." 
It does him good, en I 'low that it does a 

soldier, too ; 
So even if the feller at the track don't wear 

the blue, 
He's helped save bleedin' Cuby from the 

tyrants en their rack 
By leadin' in the cheerin' 

When the troops come back. 

Edward Singer. 



TO THE FLYING SQUADRON. 

FiKRCK flock of sea gulls, with huge 
wings of white, 
Tossed on the treacherous blue, 
Poising your pinions in majestic flight — 
Our hearts take voyage with you. 

God save us from war's terrors ! May they 

cease ! 
And yet one fate, how worse ! 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



123 



A bloodless, perjured, prostituting peace, 
Glutting a coward's purse ! 

Oh, if yon beaks and talons clutch and 
cling 
Far in the middle seas 
With those of hostile war birds, wing to 
wing — 
Our hearts shall fight with these. 

God speed you ! Never fared crusading 
knight 

On holier quest than ye — 
Sworn to the rescue of the trampled right, 

Sworn to make Cuba free ! 

Yea, swiftly to avenge our martyred 
" Maine," 
I watch you curve and wheel 
In horrible grace of battle — scourge of 
Spain, 
Birds with the beaks of steel ! 



SONG FOR OUR FLEETS. 

A song for our fleets — our iron fleets, 
Of grim and savage beauty, 
That plow their way through fields 
of spray 
To follow a nation's duty ! 
The winds may blow and the waves may 
flow 
And stars may hide their faces, 
But we little reck, our stars o'er deck 
Still glitter within their places, 

Let never a one who gazes on 

This pageant, calm and splendid, 
Doubt that our coasts from hostile hosts 

Will gallantly be defended ! 
A desperate foe may wish us woe, 

But what is their petty knavery 
Against the right, when backed by might 

And Anglo-Saxon bravery ? 

A song for our fleets — our gallant fleets, 

'Neath flags of glory flying, 
That carry the aid, so long delayed, 

To those that are crushed and dying ! 
And flames may glow, and blood may flow, 

But, still with a stern endeavor, 
We'll rule the main, and lash foul Spain 

From our western world forever ! 



PICTURE OF WAR. 

Spirit of light and life ! when battle 
rears 
Her fiery brow and her terrific spears ! 
When red-mouthed cannon to the clouds 

uproar, 
And gasping thousands make their beds in 

gore, 
While on the billowy bosom of the air 
Roll the dead notes of anguish and des- 
pair ! 
Unseen, thou walk'st on the smoking plain , 
And hear'st each groan that gurgles from 
the slain ! 

List ! war peals thunder on the battlefield , 

And many a hand grasps firm the glitter- 
ing shield, 

As on, with helm and plume, the warriors 
come, 

And the glad hills repeat their stormy drum ! 

And now are seen the youthful and the 
gray, 

With bosoms firing to partake the fray ; 

The first with hearts that consecrate the 
deed, 

All eager rush to vanquish or to bleed ! 

Like young waves racing in the morning 
sun, 

That rear and leap with reckless fury on ! 

But mark yon war-worn man, who looks on 

high, 
With thought and valor mirrored in his 

eye ! 
Not all the gory revels of the day 
Can fright the vision of his home away ; 
The home of love, and its associate smiles, 
His wife's endearment, and his baby's 

wiles : 
Fights he less brave through recollected 

bliss, 
With step retreating, or with sword remiss ? 
Ah no ! remembered home's the warrior's 

charm, 
Speed to his sword, and vigor to his arm ; 

For this he supplicates the God afar, 
Fronts the steeled foe, and mingles in the 

war ! 
The cannon's hushed ! — nor drum, nor 

clarion sound : 
Helmet and hauberk gleam upon the 

ground ; 



124 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



Horseman and. horse lie weltering in their 

gore ; 
Patriots are dead, and heroes dare no 

more ; 
While solemnly the moonlight shrouds the 

plain , 
And lights the lurid features of the slain ! 

And see ! on this rent mound, where daisies 
sprung, 

A battle steed beneath his rider flung ; 

Oh ! never more he'll rear with fierce 
delight, 

Roll his red eyes, and rally for the fight ! 

Pale on his bleeding breast the warrior 
lies, 

While from his ruffled lids the white- 
swelled eyes 

Ghastly and grimly stare upon the skies ! 

Afar, with bosom bared unto the breeze, 
White lips, and glaring eyes, and shivering 

knees, 
A widow o'er her martyred soldier moans, 
Loading the night-winds with delirious 

groans ! 
Her blue-eyed babe, unconscious orphan 

he! 
So sweetly prattling in his cherub glee, 
Leers on his lifeless sire with infant wile, 
And plays and plucks him for a parent's 

smile ! 

But who, upon the battle- wasted plain, 
Shall count the faint, the gasping and the 

slain ? 
Angel of Mercy ! ere the blood-fount chill, 
And the brave heart be spiritless and still, 
Amid the havoc thou art hovering nigh, 
To calm each groan, and close each dying 

eye, 
And waft the spirit to that halcyon shore, 
Where war's loud thunders lash the winds 



no more 



Robert Montgomery. 



BERNARDO DEL CARPIO. 

A splendid selection for the portrayal of varying emotions of sup- 
plication, delight, filial veneration, horror, humiliation, grief, 
hatred, defiance and resignation. 



T 



he warrior bowed his crested head, and 

tamed his heart of fire, 
And sued the hearty king to free his 
long- imprisoned sire : 



' ' I bring thee here my fortress -keys, I bring 

my captive train, 
I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord ! — oh, 

break my father's chain ! " 

"Rise, rise ! even now thy father comes a 

ransomed man, this day : 
Mount thy good horse, and thou and I will 

meet him on his way." 
Then lightly rose that loyal son , and bounded 

on his steed, 
And urged, as if with lance in rest, the 

charger's foamy speed. 

And lo ! from far, as on they pressed, there 

came a glittering band, 
With one that 'midst them stately rode, as 

a leader in the land ; 
" Now haste, Bernardo, haste ! for there, in 

very truth, is he, 
The father whom thy faithful heart hath 

yearned so long to see." 

His dark eye flash'd, his proud breast heav'd, 

his cheek's blood came and went; 
He reached that gray-haired chieftain's side, 

and there, dismounting, bent ; 
A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's 

hand he took, — 
What was there in its touch that all his 

fiery spirit shook ? 

That hand was cold — a frozen thing — it 

dropped from his like lead ; 
He looked up to the face above — the face 

was of the dead ! 
A plume waved o'er the noble brow — the 

brow was fixed and white ; 
He met at last his father's eyes — but in 

them was no sight ! 
Up from the ground he sprang, and gazed, 

but who could paint that gaze ? 
They hushed their very hearts, that saw its 

horror and amaze ; 
They might have chained him, as before 

that stony form he stood, 
For the power was stricken from his arm, 

and from his lip the blood. 

"Father!" at length he murmured low, 
and wept like childhood then — 

Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears 
of warlike men ! — 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



125 



He thought on all his glorious hopes, and 

all his young renown, — 
He flung his falchion from his side, and in 

the dust sat down. 

Then covering with his steel-gloved hands 

his darkly mournful brow, 
" No more, there is no more," he said, " to 

lift the sword for now. — 
My king is false, my hope betrayed, my 

father — oh ! the worth, 
The glory and the loveliness are passed 

away from earth ! 
" I thought to stand where banners waved, 

my sire ! beside thee yet — 
I would that there our kindred blood on 

Spain's free soil had met ! 
Thou wouldst have known my spirit then 

— for thee my fields were won, — 
And thou hast perished in thy chains, as 

though thou hadst no son ! ' ' 

Then, starting from the ground once more, 

he seized the monarch's rein, 
Amidst the pale and wildered looks of all 

the courtier train ; 
And with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the 

rearing war horse led, 
And sternly set them face to face — the king 

before the dead ! — 

"Came I not forth upon thy pledge, my 

father's hand to kiss ? — 
Be still, and gaze thou on, false king ! and 

tell me what is this ! 
The voice, the glance, the heart I sought — 

give answer, where are they ? — 
— If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, 

send life through this cold clay ! 

' ' Into these glassy eyes put light — Be still ! 

keep down thine ire, — 
Bid these white lips a blessing speak — this 

earth is not my sire ! 
Give me back him for whom I strove, for 

whom my blood was shed, — 
Thou canst not — and a king ! His dust be 

mountains on thy head ! ' ' 

He loosed the steed ; his slack hand fell — 

upon the silent face 
He cast one long, deep, troubled look — then 

turned from that sad place ; 



His hope was crushed, his after fate untold 

in martial strain, — 
His banner led the spears no more, amidst 

the hills of Spain. 

Felicia D. Hemans. 



THE ROMAN SENTINEL. 

"In the excavations made by the government authorities to 
restore the ancient city of Pompeii, the workmen discovered the 
bones of a Roman soldier in the sentry box at one of the city's 
gates. As rocks of shelter were near at hand, and escape from 
the volcano's fiery deluge thus rendered possible, the supposition 
is that this brave sentinel chose to meet death, rather than desert 
his post of duty." 

THE morning sun rose from his crimson 
couch 
In the Orient-land, and bathed the 
world 
In golden showers of refreshing light : 
With orange and with jasmine the gardens 
Of Pompeii were beautiful and fragrant ; 
The gray rocks, robed and crowned with 

vines and flowers, 
Were lulled to sleep upon the bosom of 

the Bay. 
The merchant ships and pleasure boats 

lay still 
And lifeless — or, drifting aimlessly between 
The blue of the skies and the blue of the 
the sea. 

Sailing away on silvery pinions, 
A pair of cloud-lovers, with cheeks of pearl, 
Blushed to discover, in the sea below, 
Their mirrored images. The distant isles 
Answered back smiles of happy contentment 
To voices calling from the mainland shores. 
The hazy air, mild and calm, wrapped 

this proud 
Old Italian city in a mantle 
Of deamful repose. On her streets the tramp 
Of feet, now and then, broke the lazy quiet — 
Some bought, some sold, some danced, some 

played, some slept ; 
And each one went about his daily work, 
Nor dreamed of danger near. 

At a gate commanding entrance to Pompeii 
Was placed a trusty sentinel. His tall, 
Erect and warlike stature told a tale 
Of dauntless courage. Proud of the 

faith and 
Confidence placed in his loyal heart, 
The sentinel's eyes shone like brilliant stars ; 






126 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



His trumpet, sword and buckler hung about 
His frame with airy lightness, while his face, 
His bearing and his every action 
Proclaimed in terms and force significant — 
" Here staiids a Roman soldier /" 

While pacing to and fro his measured beat, 
And dreaming dreams of long expected 

honors, 
There comes, beneath him, a strange quick 

movement ! 
He stops — waits— listens. Ah, it comes 



again 



Then he knows the awful truth — an 

earthquake, 
That dreadful harbinger of volcanic 
Action ! A third time, and the ground 

doth heave 
Like ocean billows ! Up, through evr'y vein 
The soldier's blood darts with freezing 

torture ! 
He looks towards the Bay, — it boils and 

struggles 
In its mad contention, lashing itself 
As it lashes the shore ! He lifts his trumpet 
And sounds a loud alarm ! Back from 

the throat 
Of great Vesuvius returns the answer, — 
A rumble, rumble, rumble, like distant 
Artillery ! Volumes of smoke, dense and 
Gigantic, roll from the maddened crater ! 
Daylight ceases ! no sun ! no moon ! 

no stars ! 
Now dreadful, appaling, and magnificent 
Blazes the weird, Plutonian candle ! 
The ground heaves ! It rocks again ! 

The waters 
Leap beyond their shores ! See — the giant 

mountain 
Trembles ! Then one long, unnatural, 

roaring 
Peal of wild volcanic thunder, and the 
Fiery lakes of hell are hurled, seething, 
Into the clouds above ! Sound the danger 
Signals ! Rouse the thoughtless people ! 

Fly! fly! 
Fly for your lives ! Too late ! too late ! 

forever 
Too late ! A molton sea of liquid fire 
Pours down upon the fated city ! 
Ghastly imps, the spectres of ruin, gloat 
Above the hissing surges ! Now a vain 



Of red-hot ashes, stones, and cinders falls 
Thick and fast for miles around ! In 

the sreets, 
In their shops, in their homes that 

startled mass 
Of poor humanity is suddenly 
Clasped in the arms of unexpected death ! 
Old age, manhood, bouyant youth, and 

helpless 
Infancy all, all at once are buried 
'Neath the burning fury of that awful 
Avalanche ! 

When the pent up ire 
Of grim Vesuvius had burst its massive 
Prison bars, the soldier thought: "What 

shall 
I do ? To yon projecting rock I quick 
Can fly and safety find ! But can I thus 

betray 
My sacred trust and win the name of 

coward ? 
Is life a gem worth such a price to me ? 
Could ev'r again these Roman lips repeat 
The name my father bore ? No ! no ! 

no ! here ! 
Here will I stand ; so let the fiends of hell 
Exhaust their utmost fury! Trumpet, 

sound 
My challenge bold ! Ye heavens, wear 

your blackest face ! 
Volcano, hurl your wildest fires ! For 

though 
I choke — I burn — I sink — I die — yet ne'er 
Will I forsake my post of duty ! ' ' 

Seventeen 
Hundred years rolled by ere again the light 
Of day shone on the buried city ; 
Then excavation broke the seals which held 
The solemn secret. Two hundred thousand 
Skulls and more were found entombed 

beneath 
The ashes. Every stone and piece of metal 
Lifted from the ancient ruins, told o'er 
And o'er the horrors of that dark eruption. 
At his post the sentinel's bones had kept 
Their long and' ghastly vigil. As in life 
So e'en in death, the sacred trust was not 
Deserted. 

Ward M. Florence;, 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



127 



WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY. 

To day our George of hatchet fame 
Reminds us of his birth ; 
He left a loved and honored name, 
Revered o'er all the earth. 

He nursed the germs of liberty 
That bore us priceless fruit, — 

Declared that nature made us free — 
No king should persecute. 

To-day we rank among the nations 
In power, wealth and fame ; 

No longer seeking approbation 
And bear an honored name. 

Now science, art and invention 

Are our genial friends ; 
Education has attention 

Adapting means to ends. 

In enterprise we lead all nations, 

To Uncle Sam all bow ; 
Daily reaching higher stations : 

We are not beggars now. 

Gold, the polar star of power 

Is near its zenith now — 
Accumulating ev'ry hour 

From furnace, loom and plow. 

Humanity must intercede 

To check this growing power — 

To limit selfishness and greed 
That make the feeble cower. 

Some politicians doubt the tale 

About the cherry tree, 
But recognize behind the veil 

His love of liberty. 
John Bacheldkr, In The Progress 



THE HOME VOYAGE. 

A tribute to the memory of General H. W. Lawton, on the 
coming home of his dead body. 

Bear with us, O great captain, if our pride 
Shows equal measure with our grief's 
excess 
In greeting you in this your helplessness, 
To countermand our vanity and hide 

Your stern displeasure that we thus had 
tried 
To praise you, knowing praise was your 
distress, 
But this home-coming swells our hearts 
no less, — 



Because for love of home you proudly died. 
IyO, then : — The cable, fathoms 'neath 
the keel — 
That shapes your course, is eloquent of you ; 
The old flag, too, at half mast overhead — 
We doubt not that its gale-kissed ripples 
feel 
A prouder sense of red and white and 
blue — 
The stars — Ah, God : Were they inter- 
preted. 

In strange lands were your latest honors 
won — 
In strange wilds, with strange dangers all 
beset ; 
With rain, like tears, the face of day was 
wet, 
As rang the ambushed foeman's fatal gun — 

And as you felt your final duty done, 
We feel, that glory thrills your spirit yet, 
When at the front, in swiftest death, you 
met, 
The patriots doom and best reward in one. 

And so the tumult of that island-war ; 
At last, for you, is stilled forevermore — 
Its scenes of blood blend white as ocean- 
foam 
On your rapt vision as you sight afar 

The sails of peace : and from that alien 
shore, 
The proud ship bears you on your voyage 
home. 

Or rough or smooth the wave, or lowering 
day, 
Or starlight sky — you hold, by native right, 
Your high tranquility — the silent might 
Of the true hero. — So you led the way 
To victory through the stormiest battle- 
fray, 
Because your followers, high above the fight 
Heard your soul's slight whisper bid 
them smile 
For God and man and space to kneel and 
pray. 
And thus you cross the seas into your own 
Beloved land, convoyed with honors meet 

Saluted as your home's first heritage — 
Nor salutation from your state alone, 

But all the states, gathered in mighty fleet- 
Dip colors as you move to anchorage. 
Jambs WhiTCOMB RilKY in The Progress. 



128 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



A LEGEND OF THE DECLARATION. 

By Special Permission of the Author. 

The vote on the Declaration was by Colonies. Six had voted 
for and six against the measure. The Pennsylvania delegation 
had the casting vote, and it being equally divided, John Morton 
decided the momentous question, thus making Pennsylvania the 
" Keystone State." 

A hundred years and more have fled 
Since brave Columbia burst the chains 
That tyranny and avarice wed. 
Then liberty was yet a dream — 
A hymn still sung in whispered strains — 
A first gray dawn, a herald beam 
Of freedom's sun. 

'Twas then oppression's ruthless hand 
Was striving to regain its prey, 
And spread dismay throughout the land. 
Heroic souls at once convened 
To crush a hatred monarch's sway, 
Whose dastard rule had fully weaned 
His subject's love. 

Each colony her chosen sent 
To Philadelphia's spacious hall, 
The people's will to represent. 
Success would crown them patriots brave — 
One thing was needful to them all, 
Or each might find a traitor's grave — 
'Twas unanimity. 

The Continental Congress met ; 
Each delegate had said his say, 
Save one, who had not spoken yet. 
With us the vote remained a tie : 
Good Pennsylvania held the sway — 
'Twas she who now must cast the die, 
To wreck or save. 

John Morton's called ; all eyes are strained — 
The federal arch is almost built — 
The arch that freedom's God ordained. 
He voted right, all undismayed 
E'en though his true heart's blood be spilt — 
And thus he nobly, safely laid 
The Keystone. 

And so the mighty deed was done, 
That makes us what we are to-day, 
By which our sovereign right was won. 
John Morton gained eternal fame, 
'Twill last with Independence Day, 
And Pennsylvania gained a name — 
The Keystone State. 

Geo. M. Vtckers. 



GENERAL ROBERT E. LEE. 

By Permission of the Author. 

This poem, written by an old Yankee soldier, was forwarded 
by General Buckner, of the Union Army, to the Lee Monument 
Association on the occasion of the unvailing of the statue of Lee. 
It is a tribute alike to the great southern general who is held in 
universal esteem, and also to the magnanimous spirit of his old 
foes in arms. 

LET glory's wreath rest on the warrior's 
tomb, 
Let monumental shaft surmount his 
grave, 
For all the world yields homage to the 

brave, 
And heroes dead have vanquished every 

foe. 
The earth is strewn with storied slabs 

which tell 
That manliness is born of every clime. 
Each sword is drawn to guard a seeming 

right, 
Each blow is struck to crush a fancied 

wrong ; 
For war proclaims sincere consistency, 
And victory but seals just Heaven's decree. 
O Western World, what noble men are 

thine, 
How brave their hearts, how steadfast to 

the end ! 
The pride of empire is of valor born, 
The soldier shapes the destiny of man. 
Look, then, ye tyrant kings that rule by 

fear ! 
Behold, ye nations of the earth ! Our 

sons 
Are warriors born : Lee was our son ; he 

sleeps — 
Our son, a soldier, an American. 

Geo. M. Vickers. 



"WE'LL FLING THE STARRY BANNED 
OUT." 

{By Special Permission of the Author.) 

During the year 1893, an effort was made by the Patriotic Orders 
of America to have the " Stars aud Stripes " floated over the pub- 
lic schools of the country, so that the children attending them 
might learn to reverence it as an emblem representing a great and 
glorious Republic. This attempt of the Orders met with strong 
opposition, but finally its advocates were successful, and to-day, 
"Old Glory" floats in the breeze over thousands of school- 
houses throughout America. A challenge from the pen of some 
one unfriendly to the cause appeared in public print, and in 
response to " Don't You Dare to Fling Out the Flag," the fol- 
lowing lines were written : 



w 



e'll fling the Starry Banner out. 
That nations from afar 

May read of freedom's holy light. 
Grafted in stripe and star. 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



129 



We'll fling the Starry Banner out, 

Because it tells a story, 
Of days that prompted sons and sires 

To deeds of love and glory. 

We'll fling the Starry Banner out, 
From Maine to Golden Gate ; 

It breathes a love for liberty, 
That kings and tyrants hate. 

We'll fling the Starry Banner out, 
That patriot hands unfurled ; 

Proudly it floats o'er land and sea, 
A lamp to light the world. 

We'll fling the Starry Banner out, 

Nor shall a star be riven 
From out its field of blue so bright, 

And typical of heaven. 

We'll fling the Starry Banner out, 
And guard with greatest care, 

Its stripes and stars, and field of blue, 
In peace as well as war. 

We'll fling the Starry Banner out, 

So that it may become 
The pride of every patriot's heart, 

And a joy in every home. 

William F. Knott. 



"PRIVATE JONES. " 

{Encore. ) 

Iused to boss him in the store 
And oversee his work, 
For I had charge of one whole floor 
And he was just a clerk. 
To-day it's different, if you please ; 

We've changed respective pegs, 
I'm private in the ranks — and he's 
Got stripes down his legs. 

The girls, whose smiles were once for me, 

Now scarce vouchsafe a glance, 
Such great attraction can they see 

In decorated pants. 
The erstwhile clerk no longer my 

Indulgence humble begs. 
I'm down below. He' up on high, 

With stripes down his legs. 

It's " Private Jones, do this and that." 

In haste I must bestir — 
To Jenkins, on whom oft I've sat, 



I'm told to answer " sir ! " 
One born to rule, it's come to pass 

Of woe I drink the dregs — 
I'm in the army, with, alas ! 

No stripes down my legs. 

Edwin L. Sabin. 



WHO WILL CARE FOR MOTHER NOW? 

During one of the Spanish war battles, among many other 
noble fellows that fell, was a young man who had been the only 
support of an aged and sick mother for years. Hearing the sur- 
geon tell those who were near him, that he could not live, he 
placed his hand across his forehead and, with a trembling voice, 
said, while burning tears ran down his fevered cheeks : " Who 
will care for mother now ? " 



w 



hy am I so weak and weary ? 
See how faint my heated breath, 
All around to me seems darkness- 
Tell me, comrades, is this death? 
Ah ! how well I know your answer, 

To my fate I meekly bow, 
If you'll only tell me truly, 

Who will care for mother now ? 

CHORUS. 

Soon with angels I'll be marching, 
With bright laurels on my brow, 

I have for my country fallen, 
Who will care for mother now ? 

Who will comfort her in sorrow ? 

Who will dry the fallen tear ? 
Gently smooth the wrinkled forehead ? 

Who will whisper words of cheer ? 
Even now I think I see her 

Kneeling, praying for me ! how 
Can I leave her in her anguish ? 

Who will care for mother now ? 

Let this knapsack be my pillow, 

And my mantle be the sky ; 
Hasten, comrades, to the battle, 

I will like a soldier die. 
Soon with angels I'll be marching, 

With bright laurels on my brow ; 
I have for my country fallen, 

Who will care for mother now ? 



I WANT TO GO HOME. 

That the camp life of the common soldier is not all joy and 
jollity has been the experience of almost every one who has borne 
arms. Few old soldiers would fail to find the sentiment of the 
following lines somewhere in their own recollections. 

I want to go home wailed the privit, 
The sarg'ent an' corpril the same, 
per I'm sick of the camp an' the drilling 



ISO 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



The grub an' the rest of the game ; 
I'm willin' to do all the nghtin' 

They'll give me in any old way, 
But me girl's all alone an' I want to go 
home, 

An' I want to go home to-day. 

Fer I've marched 'till me throat was a 
crackin', 

'Till crazed fer the sake of a drink ; 
I've drilled 'till me back was a breakin', 

An' I haven't had gumption to think ; 
An' I've done my whole share of policin' 

An' guard ; an' I'm tired of me lay, 
Fer me girl's all alone an' I want to go 
home, 

An' I want to go home to-day. 

Do they need us, a dyin' in camp life ? 

They say it's the water and such ; 
We think it's more likely we're homesick, 

But the life of a privit ain't much. 
An' they know we can fight if we have to, 

An' they won't have to show us the way, 
But me girl's all alone an' I want to go 
home, 

An' I want to go home to-day. 



BOER PRAYERS AT BRITISH GRAVES. 

A British health officer, Writing a description of the burial 
of British soldiers at Ladysmith, tells how the Boers helped 
lliem bury their dead and prayed and sang at the graves. The 
British were deeply moved thereby. In the Westminster 
Gazette appears the following poem relating the incident. 

Tenderly down the hill we bore them, 
Riddled with bullets, shattered with shell ; 
Never a cry was lifted o'er them, 
Never a tear above them fell. 

Friendly came the Boers beside them, 
Muttered, " Poor fellows, so worn and 

thin!" 
Helped us to hollow the trench to hide 

them, 
Helped us to carefully lay them in. 

Hornily-handed, rough of faces, 

All their battle-wrath passed away ; 

It seemed the hearts of the sundered races 

Were one in love of the dead that day. 

Solemnly, then, we read the verses 

' ' Ashes to ashes ! dust to dust ! ' ' 

As we gave our mates to the last of nurses — 

The pitiful earth in whose peace we trust. 



Kindly up there stepped a foeman, 
Stepped to the grave and prayed a prayer, 
Never a son of a British woman 
But felt the breath of the L,ord was there. 
Faithfully, humbly did he pray it — 
Prayed to the Father of foe and friend 
To look from heaven at last and stay it, 
Make of this terrible war an end. 

Plaintively then uprose their chorus — 
A hymn to the God of the warless years ; 
The tender heart of a girl came o'er us ; 
We sobbed, and turned from the grave in 
tears. 

H. D. Rawnsi^y. 



A SOLDIER'S OFFERING. 

{For Decoration Day. By special permission of 
the author.) 

The laurel wreath of glory 
That decks the soldier's grave, 
Is but the finished story, — 
The record of the brave ; 
And he who dared the danger, 
Who battled well and true, 
To honor was no stranger, 
Though garbed in gray or blue. 

Go, strip your choicest bowers, 
Where blossoms sweet abound, 
Then scatter free your flowers 
Upon each moss-grown mound ; 
Though shaded by the North's tall pine 
Or South 's palmetto tree, 
Let sprays that soldier's graves entwine, 
A soldier's tribute be. 

Gko. M. Vickkrs. 



ADHIRAL SUSAN JANE. 

I may be wrong about it, but it seems to 
me, by gum ! 
That this here war we're in ain't bein' 
managed right ; 
I know somebody that I'll bet could fairly 
make things hum 
And knock the Spaniards out of time 
before to-morrow night. 
S-s-s-h ! Say, don't let her hear us ! But 
I'll bet if Susan Jane 
Could be appointed admiral fer jist about 
a day 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



131 



The powers couldn't stop 'er — it'd all be up 
with Spain — 
One look from her, and every Don would 
want to sneak away. 

,1'd like to see Cervera or old Blanco when 
she got 
Him cornered, as she often corners me, 
And then look through and through him 
— laws ! I'll bet he would not 
Be long in beggin' fer a chance to scoot 
across the sea ! 
Talk about your fiery looks ! One look 
from Susan Jane 
Jist sets my blood a-tinglin' and upsets 
me fer a week — 
If she could meet Sagasta that would settle 
things for Spain — 
She'd make him give up all before he'd 
got a chance to speak ! 

O, I'd like to see old Weyler go if she was 
in pursuit, 
With a pair of trusty scissors in her hand ! 
I'll bet he wouldn't argue, and I'll bet that 
he would scoot, 
As he'd go it from Old Nick and all his 
brimstone eatin' band ! — 
I wouldn't want to say it, if I thought that 
she could hear, 
But it'd be a chilly day fer poor old 
groggy Spain 
If our commodores and admirals were all to 
disappear, 
And the whole affair was put into the 
hands of Susan Jane. 

S. E. Kiskr. 



THE AMERICAN FLAG. 

A thoughtful mind, when it sees a 
nation's flag, sees not the flag only, 
but the nation itself; and whatever 
may be its symbols, its insignia, he reads 
chiefly in the flag the government, the 
principles, the truths, the history, which 
belong to the nation that sets it forth. 

When the French tricolor rolls out to the 
wind, we see France. When the new-found 
Italian flag is unfurled, we see resurrected 
Italy. When the other three cornered 
Hungarian flag shall be lifted to the wind, 
we shall see in it the long-buried but never 



dead principles oi Hungarian liberty. 
When the united crosses of St. Andrew 
and St. George on a fiery ground set forth 
the banner of Old England, we see not the 
cloth merely ; there rises up before the mind 
the noble aspect of that monarchy, which, 
more than any other on the globe, has 
advanced its banner for liberty, law and 
national prosperity. 

This nation has a banner too ; and when- 
ever it streamed abroad, men saw daybreak 
bursting on their eyes, for the American 
flag has been the symbol of liberty, and 
men rejoiced in it. Not another flag on 
the globe had such an errand, or went forth 
upon thesea, carrying everywhere, the world 
around, such hope for the captive and such 
glorious tidings. 

The stars upon it were to the pining 
nations like the morning stars of God, and 
the stripes upon it were beams of morning 
light. 

As at early dawn the stars stand first, and 
then it grows light, and then as the sun ad- 
vances, the light breaks into banks and 
streaming lines of color, the glowing red and 
intense white striving together and ribbing 
the horizon with bars effulgent, so on the 
American flag, stars and beams of many 
colored light shine out together. And 
wherever the flag comes, and men behold 
it, they see in its sacred emblazonry, no 
rampant lion and fierce eagle, but only light, 
and every fold significant of liberty. 

The history of this banner is all on one 
side. Under it rode Washington and his 
armies ; before it Burgoyne laid down his 
arms. It waved on the highlands at West 
Point ; it floated over old Fort Montgomery. 
When Arnold would have surrendered these 
valuable fortresses and precious legacies, his 
night was turned into day, and his treachery 
was driven away, by the beams of light from 
this starry banner. 

It cheered our army, driven from New 
York, in their solitary pilgrimage through 
New Jersey. It streamed in light over 
Valley Forge and Morristown. It crossed 
the waters rolling with ice at Trenton ; and 
when its stars gleamed in the cold morning 
with victory, a new day of hope dawned on 
the despondency of the nation. And when, 
at length, the long years of war were 






132 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



drawing to a close, underneath the folds of 
this immortal banner sat Washington while 
Yorktown surrendered its hosts, and our 
Revolutionary struggles ended with victory. 
L,et us then twine each thread of the 
glorious tissue of our country's flag about 
our heartstrings ; and looking upon our 
homes and catching the spirit that breathes 
upon us from the battlefields of our fathers, 
let us resolve, come weal or woe, we will, 
in life and in death, now and forever, stand 
by the Stars and Stripes. They have been 
unfurled from the snows of Canada to the 
plains of New Orleans, in the halls of the 
Montezumas and amid the solitude of every 
sea ; and everywhere, as the luminous sym- 
bol of resistless and beneficent power, they 
have led the brave to victory and to glory. 
They have floated over our cradles ; let it 
be our prayer and our struggle that they 
shall float over our graves. In this consists 
our hope, and without it there can be no 
future for our nation. 

Henry Ward Beecher. 



RIENZI TO THE ROMAN CONSPIRATORS 
IN 1347. 

Romans ! look round you — on this 
sacred place 
There once stood shrines, and gods, 
and godlike men. 
What see you now ? — what solitary trace 

Is left of all that made Rome's glory then ? 
The shrines are sunk, the Sacred Mount 
bereft 
Even of its name — and nothing now 
remains 
But the deep memory of that glory, left 
To whet our pangs and aggravate our 
chains ! 
But shall this be ? Our sun and sky the 
same, — 
Treading the very soil our fathers trod, — 
What withering curse hath fallen on soul 
and frame, 
What visitation hath there come from God , 
To blast our strength, and rot us into slaves, 
Here, on our great forefathers' glorious 

graves ? 
It can not be ! Rise up, ye mighty dead, — ■ 
If W£, the living, are too weak to crush 



These tyrant priests, that o'er your empire 
tread , 
Till all but Romans at Rome's tameness 
blush ! 

Happy, Palmyra, in thy desert domes, 
Where only date- trees sigh, and ser- 
pents hiss ! 
And thou, whose pillars are but silent 
homes 
For the stork's brood, superb Per-sep'olis ! 
Thrice happy both, that your extinguished 

race 
Have left no embers — no half-living trace — 
No slaves, to crawl around the once proud 

spot, 
Till past renown in present shame's forgot ; 
While Rome, the queen of all, whose very 
wrecks, 
If lone and lifeless through a desert 
hurled, 
Would wear more true magnificence than 
decks 
The assembled thrones of all the existing 
world — 
Rome, Rome alone is haunted, stained, and 
cursed, 
Through every spot her princely Tiber 
laves, 

By living human things — the deadliest, 
worst, 
This earth engenders — tyrants and their 
slaves ! 
And we — O, shame ! — we, who have pon- 
dered o'er 
The patriot's lesson, and the poet's lay; 
Have mounted up the streams of an- 
cient lore, 
Tracking our country's glories all 
the way — 
Even we have tamely, basely kissed the 
ground, 
Before that tyrant power, that ghost 
of her, 
The world's imperial mistress — sitting, 
crowned 
And ghastly, on her mouldering 
sepulcher ! 

But this is past ! — too long have lordly 
priests 
And priestly lords led us, with all our 
pride 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



133 



Withering about us, — like devoted beasts, 
Dragged to the shrine, with faded gar- 
lands tied. 
'Tis o'er — the dawn of our deliverance 

breaks ! 
Up from his sleep of centuries awakes 
The Genius of the old republic, free 
As first he stood, in chainless majesty, 
And sends his voice through ages yet to 



And when their eyes flashed — O my beauti- 
ful eyes ! 
I exulted ! nay, let them go forth at the 
wheels 
Of the guns, and denied not. But then the 
surprise, 
When one sits quite alone ! Then one 
weeps, then one kneels ! 

— God how the house feels ! 



come, 
Proclaiming Rome, Rome, Rome, Eternal At first happy news came, in gay letters 



Thomas Moore. 



Rome ! moiled 

With my kisses, of camplife and glory, 
and how 
They both loved me, and soon coming home 
to be spoiled, 
In return would fan off every fly from my 
brow 

With their green-laurel bough. 

Then was triumph at Turin. " Ancona was 
free." 
And some one came out of the cheers in 
the street, 
With a face pale as stone, to say something 
to me — 
My Guido was dead ! — I fell down at his 
feet, 

While they cheered in the street. 
Yet I was a poetess only last year, 

And good at my art, for a woman, men I bore it — friends soothed me; my grief 



MOTHER AND POET. 

( Turin. After news from Gcela, 1861. ) 

Most effective if reader be costumed in black, hair powdered 
and black lace draped about head and form. 

Dead ! one of them shot by the sea in the 
east, 
And one of them shot in the west by 
the sea. 
Dead ! both my boys ! When you sit at the 
feast 
And are wanting a great song for Italy 
free, 

Let none look at me ! 






said. 
But this, woman, this, who is agonized here, 
The east sea and west sea rhyme on in 
her head 

Forever instead. 

What art's for a woman ? To hold on her 
knees 
Both darlings ! to feel all their arms round 
her throat 
Cling, strangle a little ! To sew by degrees, 
And 'broider the long clothes and neat 
little coat ! 

To dream and to dote. 



looked sublime 
As the ransom of Italy ; one boy 
remained 
To be leant on and walked with, recalling 
the time 
When the first grew immortal, while both 
of us strained 

To the height he had gained. 

And letters still came, shorter, sadder, more 
strong, 
Writ now but in one hand, "I was not 
to faint. 
One loved me for two — would be with me 
ere long ; 
And " Viva Italia " he died for, our 
saint, 

Who forbids our complaint. 



To teach them — It stings there. I made 
them indeed 
Speak plain the word " country." I 
taught them, no doubt, 
That a country's a thing men should die My Nanni would add, " he was safe, and 
for at need. aware 

I prated of liberty, rights, and about Of a presence that turned off the balls ; 

The tyrant turned out. was imprest 



*34 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



It was Guido himselt, who knew what I 
could bear, 
And how 'twas impossible, quite dis- 
possessed , 

To live on for the rest," 

On which, without pause, up the telegraph 
line 
Swept smoothly the news from Gaeta : 
Shot, 
Tell his mother, Ah, ah — " his," " their " 
mother; not "mine." 
No voice says ' ' my mother ' ' again to 
me. What ! 

You think Guido forgot ? 

Are souls straight so happy that, dizzy with 
Heaven, 
They drop earth's affection, conceive not 
of woe ? 
I think not. Themselves were too lately 
forgiven, 
Through that love and sorrow which 
reconciled so 

The Above and Below. 

O Christ of the seven wounds, Who look'dst 
through the dark 
To the face of Thy mother ; consider, I 
pray, 
How we common mothers stand desolate, 
mark, 
Whose sons, not being Christs, die with 
eyes turned away. 

And no last word to say ! 

Both boys dead ! but that's out of nature. 
We all 
Have been patriots, yet each house must 
always keep one, 
'Twere imbecile, hewing out roads to a wall. 
And, when Italy's made, for what end is 
it done 

If we have not a son ? 

Ah, ah, ah ! when Gaeta 's taken, what 
then? 
When the fair wicked queen sits no more 
at her sport 
Of the fire-balls of death crashing souls out 
of men, 
When your guns of Cavalli with final 
retort 

Have cut the game short, 



When Venice and Rome keep their new 
jubilee, 
When your flag takes all heaven for its 
white, green, and red, 
When you have your country from moun- 
tain to sea, 
When King Victor has Italy's crown on 
his head, 

(And I have my dead) 

What then ? Do not mock me ! Ah, ring 
your bells low, 
And burn your lights faintly. My coun- 
try is there ; 
Above the star pricked by the last peak of 
snow, 
My Italy's there, with my brave civic 
pair, 

To disfranchise despair. 

Dead ! — one of them shot by the sea in the 
west ! 
And one of them shot in the east by the sea ! 
Both ! both my boys ! — If in keeping the 
feast 
You want a great song for your Italy 
free, 

Let none look at me ! 

Euzabeth Barrett Brown. 



DECORATION DAY. 

Down by the clear river's side they wan- 
dered, 
Hand in hand, on that perfect day ; 
He was young, handsome, brave, and tender, 
She more sweet than the flowers of May. 

He looked on her with brown eyes adoring, 
Watching her blushes grow soft and 
deep ; 

" Darling," he said, with tones imploring, 
' ' Shall we not ever the memory keep 

" Of this bright day, so happy, so holy ; 

This sweetest hour my life has e'er known, 
When you, dear, speaking gently and slowly, 

Answered me ' Yes,' when I called you 
my own ? ' ' 

Fair was the sky, the sunset, the river, 
Wind in the trees, the water's low psalm, 

Bird- song, scent of wild roses. Oh, never 
Was there an hour more blissful and calm ! 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



135 



Close in his arms he held her : the morrow 
Would bring to their fond hearts parting 
and pain, — 

After love's rapture, bitterest sorrow ; 
After May sunshine, gloom and the rain. 

The country her sons to save her was 
calling ; 
He answered her summons, fearless and 
brave ; 
On to the front, where heroes were falling, 
Love and all of life's promise he gave. 

She by the hearth, through long hours' slow 
measure, 
Watched and yearned, and suffered and 
prayed ; 
Read o'er his letters, lovingly treasured, 
Hoped his return, — to hope, half afraid. 

" God is good," she said. " His love will 
infold him, 
Protect him, and bring him safe to me 
again ; 
I shall hear him once more, in rapture 
behold him, — 
Oh, blessed reward, for my waiting and 



pain 



In camp, on the field, on marches long, 
weary , 
Her face and her voice in his heart's 
inner shrine 
He kept ; they brightened his way when 
most dreary, 
Lifted his life to the Life all devine. 

He fell in the ranks, at awful Stone River, 
Blood of our heroes made sacred that sod ; 

On battle's red tide his soul went out ever 
Forward and upward , to meet with his God . 

Worn, grown old, yet tenderly keeping, 
Every May month, sad tryst with her 
dead, 

She knows not where her darling is sleeping, 
She lays no garlands on his low bed. 

All soldiers' graves claim her love and her 
blessing : 
She decks them with flowers made sacred 
by tears ; 
Love of her heart for her soldier expressing, 
"Love that is stronger than death," 
through the years. 



Soon in the land of unfading beauty, 
He, faithful knight of valor and truth, 

She, living martyr to country and duty, 
Shall find the sweetness and love of their 
youth. 

Honor the dead with richest oblation, — 

Cover their graves with laurel and palm ! 
Honor the living for life's consecration, — 
Give to their pierced hearts love's heal- 
ing balm. 

Mary Hussky. 



FREEDOM'S FLAG. 

When Freedom from her mountain 
height 
Unfurled her standard to the air, 
She tore the azure robe of night, 

And set the stars of glory there ; 
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes 
The milky baldric of the skies, 
And striped its pure celestial white 
With streakings of the morning light ; 
Then, from his mansion in the sun 
She called her eagle bearer down, 
And gave into his mighty hand 
The symbol of her chosen land. 

Majestic monarch of the cloud ! 

Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, 
To hear the tempest-trumpings loud, 
And see the lightning lances driven, 

When strive the warriors of the storm. 
And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven — 
Child of the sun ! to thee 'tis given 

To guard the banner of the free, 
To hover in the sulphur-smoke, 
To ward away the battle-stroke, 
And bid its blendings shine afar, 
Like rainbows on the cloud of war, 

The harbingers of victory ! 

Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly, 
The sign of hope and triumph high, 
When speaks the signal trumpet-tone, 
And the long line comes gleaming on ; 
Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, 
Has dimmed the glistening bayonet, 
Each soldier eye shall brightly turn 
To where thy sky-born glories burn, 
And as his springing steps advance 
Catch war and vengeance from the glance. 



136 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 



And when the cannon-mouthings loud 
Heave in wild wreaths the battle-shroud, 
And gory sabres rise and fall 
Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall, 
Then shall thy meteor glances glow, 

And cowering foes shall sink beneath 
Each gallant arm that strikes below 

That lovely messenger of death. 

Flag of the seas ! on ocean wave 
Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave ; 
When death, careering on the gale, 
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, 
And frighted waves rush wildly back 
Before the broadside's reeling rack, 
Each dying wanderer of the sea 
Shall look at once to heaven and thee, 
And smile to see thy splendors fly 
In triumph o'er his closing eye. 

Flag of the free heart's hope and home ! 
By angel hands to valor given ; 
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, 
And all thy hues were born in heaven. 
Forever float that standard sheet ! 

Where breathes the foe but falls before us, 
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, 

And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us ? 
J. Rodman Drake:. 



MASSACHUSETTS. 

April, 1 86 1. 

God bless old Massachusetts ! Through 
every pulse I feel 
The echo of her martial tread, the 
ringing of her steel — 
The loyal voices of her sons, whose utter- 
ance brave and clear 



First gave to Freedom's faltering heart the 
promise and the cheer ! 

Oh, sons of Massachusetts, first to rally, 

first to die ! 
The patriot fire within your hearts, its light 

within your eye, 
Ye bless anew the sacred flag above your 

ranks unrolled, 
Ye conquer 'neath its stripes and stars, or 

sleep within its fold. 

Oh, sons of Massachusetts, ye were nursed 
at Freedom's breast, 

Her strength is in the air ye breathed, and 
in the soil ye prest ; 

Her life is in the blood that leaps from loyal 
heart to hand, 

That burns to blot the traitor's name for- 
ever from the land ! 

Go, strong of heart and brave, beneath 

your banner's stary light, 
Ye battle for^ the truth of God, for liberty 

and right ; 
And never let the sword be sheathed, the 

conquering flag be furled, 
Till our enfranchised land proclaim her 

freedom to the world ! 
God bless old Massachusetts ! She has 

nurtured noble men ; 
They go from every sea-girt town, from 

hillside and from glen, 
Bravely to victory or death, where Free- 
dom's hosts are led, 
The glory of our Commonwealth — the 

living and the dead ! 

Anna Philups Clarke. 



Part IV 

NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 



^T^his department embraces selections calculated to call forth those qualities of mind 
and imagination neccessary to describe many and varied scenes, conditions and 
emotions, common to human experience. It includes also the simple conversational 
narrative of quiet life as well as the impassioned, dramatic, weird and fantastic portrayals 
of events that send the blood boiling to the heart or freeze it in the veins. 



THE RAVEN. 

This poem is generally considered the most remarkable exam- 
ple of a harmony of sentiment with rhythmical expression to be 
found in any language. While the poet sits musingin his study, 
endeavoring to \v n from books " surcease of sorrow for the lost 
Lenore," a raven — the symbol of despair — enters the room and 
perches upon a bust of Pallas. A colloquy follows between the 
poet and the bird of ill omen with its haunting croak of " Never- 
more." 

"The Raven" has been more widely translated and more 
miversally recited than any other selection in all literature. 

ONCK upon a midnight dreary, while I 
pondered, weak and weary, 
Over many a quaint and curious vol- 
ume of fogotten lore, — 
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly 

there came a tapping, 
<As of some one gently rapping, rapping at 

my chamber door. 
" 'Tissome visitor," I muttered, " tapping 
at my chamber door — 

Only this and nothing more." 

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the 

bleak December, 
And each separate dying ember wrought its 

ghost upon the floor. 
Eagerly I wished the morrow ; vainly I had 

sought to borrow 
From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow 

for the lost Lenore, — 
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the 

angels name Lenore, — 

Nameless here forevermore. 

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of 
each purple curtain, 

Thrilled me,— filled me with fantastic ter- 
rors never felt before ; 



So that now, to still the beating of my heart, 

I stood repeating, 
" 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at 

my chamber door, — 
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my 

chamber door ; 

That it is, and nothing more." 

Presently my soul grew stronger : hesitating 
then no longer, 

" Sir," Said I, "or Madam, truly your for- 
giveness I implore ; 

But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently 
you came rapping, 

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at 
my chamber door, 

That I scarce was sure I heard you" — here 
I opened wide the door : 

Darkness there, and nothing more. 

Deep into that darkness peering, long 1 
stood there, wondering, fearing, 

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever 
dared to dream before ; 

But the silence was unbroken, and the still- 
ness gave no token, 

And the only word there spoken was the 
whispered word, " Lenore ! " 

This / whispered, and an echo murmured 
back the word, "Lenore ! " 
Merely this, and nothing more. 

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul 

within me burning, 
Soon again I heard a tapping, something 

louder than before. 



i37 



138 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 



" Surely, " said I, " surely that is something 

at my window-lattice ; 
Let me see then what thereat is and this 

mystery explore, — 
Let my heart be still a moment, and this 

mystery explore ; — 

'Tis the wind, and nothing more." 

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with 

many a flirt and flutter, 
In there stepped a stately raven of the 

saintly days of yore. 
Not the least obeisance made he ; not a 

minute stopped or stayed he ; 
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched 

above my chamber door, — 
Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above 

my chamber door — 

Perched, and sat, and nothing more. 

Then this ebon bird beguiling my sad fancy 
into smiling, 

By the grave and stern decorum of the 
countenance it wore, 

"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, 
thou," I said, " art sure no craven : 

Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wander- 
ing from the nightly shore, 

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the 
night's Plutonian shore?" 

Qoath the raven, " Nevermore ! " 

Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear 

discourse so plainly, 
Though its answer little meaning, little 

relevancy bore ; 
For we cannot help agreeing that no living 

human being 
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above 

his chamber door, 
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above 

his chamber door 

With such name as ' ' Nevermore ! ' ' 

But the raven, sitting lonely on that placid 

bust, spoke only 
That one word, as if his soul in that one 

word he did outpour. 
Nothing further then he uttered; not a 

feather then he fluttered — 
Till I scarcely more than muttered, " Other 

friends have flown before, 
On the morrow he will leave me, as my 

hopes have flown before. 

Then the bird said, " Nevermore ! " 



Startled at the stillness broken by reply so 

aptly spoken, 
" Doubtless," said I, " what it utters is its 

only stock and store, 
Caught from some unhappy master, whom 

unmerciful disaster 
Followed fast and followed faster, till his 

songs one burden bore, 
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy 

burden bore, 

Of — ' Never — nevermore ! ' n 

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul 

into smiling, 
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front 

of bird and bust and door, 
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook 

myself to linking 
Francy unto fancy, thinking what this 

ominous bird of yore — 
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, 

and ominous bird of yore 

Meant in croaking ' ' Nevermore ! ' ' 

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no 
syllable expressing 

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned 
into my bosom's core ; 

This and more I sat divining, with my head 
at ease reclining 

On the cushion's velvet lining that the 
lamp-light gloated o'er, 

But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp- 
light gloated o'er 

She shall press — ah ! nevermore ! 

Then methought the air grew denser, per- 
fumed from an unseen censer 

Swung by seraphim, whose foot-falls tinkled 
on the tufted floor, 

"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent 
thee, — by these angels he hath sent thee 

Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy 
memories of Lenore ! 

Quaff, oh, quaff this kind nepenthe, and 
forget the lost Lenore ! ' ' 

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore ! " 

"Prophet!" cried I, "thing of evil!— 
prophet still, if bird or devil ! 

Whether tempter sent, or wheter tempest 
tossed thee here ashore, 

Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert 
land enchanted — 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 



139 



On this home by horror haunted — tell me 

truly, I implore, — 
Is there — is there balm in Gilead? — tell 

me — tell me, I implore !" 

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore !" 

"Prophet!" cried I, "thing of evil! — 

prophet still, if bird or devil ! 
By that heaven that bends above us, by that 

God we both adore, 
Tell this soul, with sorrow laden, if within 

the distant Aidenn, 
It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the 

angels name Lenore ; 
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the 

angels name L,enore ! ' ' 

Quoth the raven, "Nevermore ! " 

" Be that word our sign of parting, bird or 

fiend ! " I shrieked, upstarting, — 
' ' Get thee back into the tempest and the 

night's Plutonian shore ! 
L,eave no black plume as a token of that lie 

thy soul hath spoken ! 
Leave my loneliness unbroken ! — quit the 

bust above my door ! 
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take 

thy form from off my door ! ' ' 

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore ! " 

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, 

still is sitting 
On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my 

chamber door ; 
And his eyes have all the seeming of a 

demon's that is dreaming, 
And the lamp -light o'er him streaming 

throws his shadow on the floor ; 
And my soul from out that shadow that lies 

floating on the floor 

Shall be lifted — nevermore ! 

Edgar Allan Pok. 



THE SKELETON IN ARMOR. 

This famous ballad, like Poe's " Raven," belongs to the 
weird and fantastic class. The writing of it was suggested to 
Mr. Longfellow by the digging up of a mail-clad skeleton at Fall 
River, Massachusetts — a circumstance which the poet linked 
with the traditions about the Round Tower at Newport, thus 
giving to it the spirit of a Norse Viking song of war and of 
the sea. 

( i OpKAK ! speak ! thou fearful guest ! 
O Who, with thy hollow breast 
Still in rude armor drest, 
Comest to daunt me ! 



Wrapt not in Eastern balms, 
But with thy fleshless palms 
Stretched, as if asking alms, 
Why dost thou haunt me ?" 

Then, from those cavernous eyes 
Pale flashes seemed to rise, 
As when the Northern skies 

Gleam in December ; 
And, like the water's flow 
Under December's snow, 
Came a dull voice of woe 

From the heart's chamber. 

" I was a Viking old ! 
My deeds, though manifold, 
No Skald in song has told, 

No Saga taught thee ! 
Take heed, that in thy verse 
Thou dost the tale rehearse, 
Else dread a dead man's curse ! 

For this I sought thee. 

" Far in the Northern L,and, 
By the wild Baltic's strand, 
I, with my childish hand, 

Tamed the ger-falcon ; 
And, with my skates fast-bound, 
Skimmed the half-frozen Sound, 
That the poor whimpering hound 

Trembled to walk on. 

; ' Oft to his frozen lair 
Tracked I the grizzly bear, 
While from my path the hare 

Fled like a shadow ; 
Oft through the forest dark 
Followed the were-wolf s bark, 
Until the soaring lark 

Sang from the meadow. 

;< But when I older grew, 
Joining a corsair's crew, 
O'er the dark sea I flew 

With the marauders. 
Wild was the life we led ; 
Many the souls that sped, 
Many the hearts that bled, 

By our stern orders. 

11 Many a wassail -bout 
Wore the long winter out ; 
Often our midnight shout 
Set the cocks crowing, 



140 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 



As we the Berserk's tale 
Measured in cups of ale, 
Draining the oaken pail, 
Filled to o'erflowing. 

' ' Once as I told in glee 
Tales of the stormy sea, 
Soft eyes did gaze on me, 

Burning out tender ; 
And as the white stars shine 
On the dark Norway pine, 
On that dark heart of mine 

Fell their soft splendor. 

" I wooed the blue-eyed maid, 
Yielding, yet half afraid, 
And in the forest's swade 

Our vows were plighted. 
Under its loosened vest 
Fluttered her little breast, 
Like birds within their nest 
By the hawk frighted. 

" Bright in her father's hall 
Shields gleamed upon the wall, 
Loud sang the minstrels all, 

Chanting his glory ; 
When of old Hildebrand 
I asked his daughter's hand, 
Mute did the minstrel stand 
To hear my story. 

: ' While the brown ale he quaffed 
Loud then the champion laughed, 
And as the wind-gusts waft 

The sea-foam brightly, 
So the loud laugh of scorn, 
Out of those lips unshorn, 
From the deep drinking-horn 

Blew the foam lightly. 

" She was Prince's child, 
I but a Viking wild, 
And though she blushed and smiled 

I was discarded ! 
Should not the dove so white 
Follow the sea-mew's flight, 
Why did they leave that night 
Her nest unguarded ? 

" Scarce had I put to sea, 
Bearing the maid with me, — 
Fairest of all was she 

Among the Norsemen ! — 



When on the white sea-strand, 
Waving his armed hand, 
Saw we old Hildebrand, 

With twenty horsemen. 

' Then launched they to the blast, 
Bent like a reed each mast, 
Yet we were gaining fast, 

When the wind failed us ; 
And with a sudden flaw 
Came round the gusty Skaw, 
So that our foe we saw 

Laugh as he hailed us. 

! And as to catch the gale 
Round veered the flapping sail, 
Death ! was the helmsman's hail, 

Death without quarter ! 
Midships with iron keel 
Struck we her ribs of steel ; 
Down her black hulk did reel 

Through the black water. 

; As with his wings aslant, 
Sails the fierce cormorant, 
Seeking some rocky haunt, 

With his prey laden, 
So toward the open main, 
Beating to sea again, 
Through the wild hurricane, 

Bore I the maiden. 

Three weeks we westward bore, 
And when the storm was o'er, 
Cloud-like we saw the shore 

Stretching to leeward ; 
There for my lady's bower 
Built I the lofty tower, 
Which, to this very hour, 

Stands looking seaward. 

There lived we many years ; 
Time dried the maiden's tears ; 
She had forgot her fears, 

She was a mother ; 
Death closed her mild blue eyes, 
Under that tower she lies : 
Ne'er shall the sun arise 

On such another ! 

Still grew my bosom then, 
Still as a stagnant fen ! 
Hateful to me were men, 
The sunlight hateful ! 



Id 

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(142) 



WHEN WE WENT A-MAYING 

(Suggestion for Tableau) 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 



143 



In the vast forest here, 
Clad in my warlike gear, 
Fell I upon my spear, 

0, death was grateful ! 

11 Thus, seamed with many scars 
Bursting these prison bars, 
Up to its native stars 

My soul ascended ! 
There from the flowing bowl 
Deep drinks the warrior's soul, 
Skdlf to the Northland ! sk&t/"* 
—Thus the tale ended. 

H. W- Longfki<ix>w, 

* Skal ! is the-Swedish expression for "Your Health." 



CURFEW MUST NOT RING TO=NIGHT. 

Beginning with easy measured description the speaker's 
animation rises with the development of the picture and becomes 
at the ringing of the bell (which should be acted as the lines are 
recited) subsiding again toward the close into a quiet satisfied 
tone. 

SiX>Wi<Y England's sun was setting o'er 
the hill- tops far away, 
Filling all the land with beauty at the 
close of one sad day, 
And the last rays kissed the forehead of a 

man and maiden fair — 
He with footsteps slow and weary, she with 

sunny floating hair ; 
He with bowed head, sad and thoughtful, 

she with lips all cold and white, 
Struggling to keep back the murmur — 

• ' Curfew must not ring to-night. ' ' 

■ ' Sexton, ' ' Bessie's white lips faltered, point- 
ing to the prison old, 

With its turrets tall and gloomy, with its 
walls dark, damp and cold, 

" I've a lover in that prison, doomed this 
very night to die, 

At the ringing of the Curfew, and no earthly 
help is nigh ; 

Cromwell will not come till sunset/' and 
her lips grew strangely white 

As she breathed the husky whisper :— 

" Curfew must not ring to-night." 



Bessie," calmly spoke the sexton, — every 
word pierced her young heart 
Like the piercing of an arrow, like a deadly 
poisoned dart — 

Long, long years I've rung the Curfew 
from that gloomy, shadowed tower ; 



Every evening, just at sunset, it has told the 

twilight hour ; 
I have done my duty ever, tried to do it 

just and right, 
Now I'm old I will not falter — 

Curfew, it must ring to-night." 

Wild her eyes and pale her features, stern 
and white her thoughtful brow, 

As within her secret bosom Bessie made a 
solemn vow. 

She had listened while the judges read with- 
out a tear or sigh : 

" At the ringing of the Curfew, Basil Un- 
derwood must die." 

And her breath came fast and faster, and 
her eyes grew large and bright ; 

In an undertone she murmured : — 

" Curfew must not ring to-night." 

With quick step she bounded forward, 

sprung within the old church door, 
Left the old man threading slowly paths so 

oft he'd trod before ; 
Not one moment paused the maiden, but 

with eye and cheek aglow 
Mounted up the gloomy tower, where the 

bell swung to and fro 
As she climbed the dusty ladder on which 

fell no ray of light, 
Up and up — her white lips saying : 

" Curfew must not ring to-night." 

She has reached the topmost ladder ; o'ei 

her hangs the great, dark bell ; 
Awful is the gloom beneath her, like the 

pathway down to hell. 
Lo, the ponderous tongue is swinging — 'tis 

the hour of Curfew now, 
And the sight has chilled her bosom, stopped 

her breath and paled her brow. 
Shall she let it ring ? No, never ! flash her 

eyes with sudden light, 
As she springs and grasps it firmly — 

" Curfew must not ring to-night." 

Out she swung — far out ; the city seemed a 

speck of light below, 
There 'twixt heaven and earth suspended 

as the bell swung to and fro, 
And the sexton at the bell-rope, old and 

deaf, heard not the bell, 
Sadly thought, ' ' That twilight Curfew rang 

young Basil's funeral knell." 



144 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 



Still the maiden clung more firmly, and with 

trembling lips so white, 
Said to hush her heart's wild throbbing : — 
" Curfew shall not ring to-night." 

It was o'er, the bell ceased swaying, and the 

maiden stepped once more 
Firmly on the dark old ladder where for 

hundred years before 
Human foot had not been planted. The 

brave deed that she had done 
Should be told long ages after, as the rays 

of setting sun 
Crimson all the sky with beauty ; aged sires, 

with heads of white, 
Tell the eager, listening children, 

" Curfew did not ring that night." 

O'er the distant hills came Cromwell ; Bessie 

sees him, and her brow, 
Lately white with fear and anguish, has no 

anxious traces now. 
At his feet she tells her story, shows her 

hands all bruised and torn ; 
And her face so sweet and pleading, yet with 

sorrow pale and worn, 
Touched his heart with sudden pity, lit his 

eyes with misty light : 
" Go ! your lover lives," said Cromwell, 
Curfew shall not ring to-night ! ' ' 

Wide they flung the massive portal ; led the 

prisoner forth to die — 
All his bright young life before him . ' Neath 

the darkening English sky 
Bessie comes with flying footsteps, eyes 

aglow with love-light sweet ; 
Kneeling on the turf beside him, lays his 

pardon at his feet. 
In his brave, strong arms he clasped her, 

kissed the face upturned and white, 
Whispered, ' ' Darling, you have saved me — 
Curfew will not ring to-night ! ' ' 
Rose Hartwick Thorpe. 



THE BURNING SHIP. 

Rapid rate, full force. There are also passages for special 
pitch. " Fire" should be uttered with explosive force. 

The storm o'er the ocean flew furious 
and fast, 
And the waves rose in foam at the 
voice of the blast, 
And heavily labored the gale-beaten ship, 



Like a stout-hearted swimmer, the spray at 

his lip ; 
And dark was the sky o'er the mariner's 

path, 
Save when the wild lightning illumined in 

wrath, 
A young mother knelt in the cabin below, 
And pressing her babe to her bosom of 

snow, 
She prayed to her God, 'mid the hurricane 

wild, 
" O Father, have mercy, look down on lny 

child!" 

It passed — the fierce whirlwind careered on 

its way, 
And the ship like an arrow divided the 

spray ; 
Her sails glimmered white in the beams of 

the moon, 
And the wind up aloft seemed to whistle a 

tune — to whistle a tune. 
There was joy in the ship as she furrowed 

the foam, 
For fond hearts within her were dreaming 

of home. 
The young mother pressed her fond babe to 

her breast, 
And the husband sat cheerily down by her 

side, 
And looked with delight on the face of his 

bride. 
" Oh, happy," said he, "when our roaming 

is o'er, 
We'll dwell in our cottage that stands by 

the shore. 
Already in fancy its roof I descry, 
And the smoke of its hearth curling up to 

the sky ; 
Its garden so green, and its vine-covered 

wall ; 
The kind friends awaiting to welcome us 

all, 
And the children that sport by the old 

oaken tree." 

Ah gently the ship glided over the sea ! 

Hark ! what was that ? Hark ! Hark to the 
shout ! 

" Fire ! " Then a tramp and a rout, and a 
tumult of voices uprose on the air ; — 

And the mother knelt down, and the half- 
spoken prayer, 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 



145 



That she offered to God in her agony wild, 
Was, "Father, have mercy, look down on 

my child ! ' ' 
She flew to her husband, she clung to his 

side, 
Oh there was her refuge whate'er might 

betide. 
' ' Fire ! " ' ' Fire ! " It was raging above 

and below — 
And the cheeks of the sailors grew pale at 

the sight, 
And their eyes glistened wild in the glare 

of the light. 
'Twas vain o'er the ravage the waters to 

drip ; 
The pitiless flame was the lord of the ship, 
And the smoke in thick wreaths mounted 

higher and higher. 

" O God, it is fearful to perish by fire." 
Alone with destruction, alone on the sea, 
" Great Father of mercy, our hope is in 

thee." 
Sad at heart and resigned, yet undaunted 

and brave, 
They lowered the boat, a mere speck on the 

wave. 
First entered the mother, enfolding her 

child : 
It knew she caressed it, looked upward and 

smiled. 
Cold, cold was the night as they drifted 

away, 
And mistily dawned o'er the pathway the 

day — 
And they prayed for the light, and at noon- 
tide about, 
The sun o'er the waters shone joyously out. 

' ' Ho ! a sail ! Ho ! a sail ! ' ' cried the 

man at the lea, 
' ' Ho ! a sail ! ' ' and they turned their glad 

eyes o'er the sea. 
"They see us, they see us, the signal is 

waved ! 
They bear down upon us, they bear down 

upon us : Huzza! we are saved." 



THE DIAMOND WEDDING. 

Comb sit close by my side, my darling, 
Sit up very close to-night : 
Let me clasp your tremulous fingers 
In mine, as tremulous quite. 



Lay your silvery head on my bosom, 
As you did when 'twas shining gold : 

Somehow I know no difference, 
Though they say we are very old. 

'Tis seventy-five years to-night, wife, 

Since we knelt at the altar low, 
And the fair young minister of God 

(He died long years ago,) 
Pronounced us one that Christmas eve — 

How short they've seemed to me, 
The years — and yet I'm ninety -seven, 

And you are ninety-three. 

That night I placed on your finger 

A band of purest gold ; 
And to-night I see it shining 

On the withered hand I hold. 
How it lightens up the memories 

That o'er my vision come ! 
First of all are the merry children 

That once made glad our home. 

There was Benny, our darling Benny, 

Our first-born pledge of bliss, 
As beautiful a boy as ever 

Felt a mother's loving kiss. 
'Twas hard — as we watched him fading 

Like a floweret day by day — 
To feel that He who had lent him 

Was calling him away. 

My heart it grew very bitter 

As I bowed beneath the stroke ; 
And yours, though you said so little, 

I knew was almost broke. 
We made him a grave 'neath the daisies 

(There are five now, instead of one,) 
And we've learned, when our Father chas- 
tens, 

To say, "Thy will be done." 

Then came lyillie and Allie — twin cherubs, 

Just spared from the courts of heaven — 
To comfort our hearts for a moment : 

God took as soon as he'd given. 
Then Katie, our gentle Katie ! 

We thought her very fair, 
With her blue eyes soft and tender, 

And her curls of auburn hair. 

Like a queen she looked at her bridal 
(I thought it were you instead) ; 

But her ashen lips kissed her first-born, 
And mother and child were dead. 






146 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 



We said that of all our number 
We had two, our pride and stay — 

Two noble boys, Fred and Harry ; — 
But God thought the other way. 

Far away, on the plains of Shiloh, 

Fred sleeps in an unknown grave : 
With his ship and noble sailors 

Harry sank beneath the wave. 
So sit closer, darling, closer — 

Let me clasp your hand in mine : 
Alone we commenced life's journey, 

Alone we are left behind. 

Your hair, once gold, to silver 

They say by age has grown ; 
But I know it has caught its whiteness 

From the halo round His throne. 
They give us a diamond wedding 

This Christmas eve, dear wife ; 
But I know your orange-blossoms 

Will be a crown of life. 

'Tis dark ; the lamps should be lighted ; 

And your hand has grown so cold, 
Has the fire gone out ? how I shiver ! 

But, then, we are very old. 
Hush ! I hear sweet strains of music ; 

Perhaps the guests have come. 
No — 'tis the children's voices — 

I know them, every one. 

On that Christmas eve they found them, 

Their hands together clasped ; 
But they never knew their children 

Had been their wedding guests. 
With her head upon his bosom, 

That had never ceased its love, 
They held their diamond wedding 

In the mansion house above. 



THE SONG OF THE SHIRT. 

Edger Allan Poe pronounced this one of the most rythmic poems 
in literature. The recitation should be made as musical as pos- 
sible for distinct enunciation. 

With fingers weary and worn, 
With eyelids heavy and red, 
A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, 
Plying her needle and thread — 
Stitch ! stitch ! stitch ! 

In poverty, hunger and dirt, 
And still, with a voice of dolorous pitch, 
She sang the ' ' Song of the Shirt ! " 



1 ' Work ! work ! work ! 

While the cock is crowing aloof ! 
And work — work — work ! 

Till the stars shine through the roof ! 
It's oh ! to be a slave 

Along with the barbarous Turk, 
Where woman has never a soul to save, 

If This is Christian work ! 

' ' Work — work — work ! 

Till the brain begins to swim ! 
Work — work — work ! 

Till the eyes are heavy and dim ! 
Seam, and gusset and band, 

Band, and gusset and seam, 
Till over the buttons I fall asleep, 

And sew them on in my dream ! 

' ' Oh ! men with sisters dear ! 

Oh ! men with mothers and wives ! 
It is not linen you're wearing out, 

But human creatures' lives ! 
Stitch— stitch— stitch ! 

In poverty, hunger and dirt, 
Sewing at once with a double thread, 

A shroud as well as a shirt ! 

" But why do I talk of death, 

That phantom of grisly bone ? 
I hardly fear his terrible shape, 

It seems so like my own — 
It seems so like my own, 

Because of the fast I keep ; 
O God ! that bread should be so dear, 

And flesh and blood so cheap ! 

" Work — work — work ! 

My labor never flags ; 
And what are its wages ? A bed of straw, 

A crust of bread — and rags : 
A shattered roof — and this naked floor — 

A table — a broken chair — 
And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank 

For sometimes falling there ! 

' ' Work — work — work ! 

From weary chime to chime ; 
Work — work — work — 

As prisoners work for crime ! 
Band, and gusset and seam, 

Seam, and gusset and band, 
Till the heart is sick, and the brain 
benumbed, 
As well as the weary hand ! 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 



147 



Work — work — work ! 

In the dull December light ; 
And work — work — work ! 

When the weather is warm and bright ; 
While underneath the eaves 

The brooding swallows cling, 
As if to show me their sunny backs, 

And twit me with the spring. 

Oh ! but to breathe the breath 

Of the cowslip and primrose sweet ; 
With the sky above my head, 

And the grass beneath my feet ; 
For only one short hour 

To feel as I used to feel, 
Before I knew the woes of want, 

And the walk that costs a meal. 

Oh ! but for one short hour ! 

A respite, however brief! 
No blessed leisure for love or hope, 

But only time for grief ! 
A little weeping would ease my heart — 

But in their briny bed 
My tears must stop, for every drop 

Hinders needle and thread ! ' ' 

With fingers weary and worn, 
With eyelids heavy and red, 

A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, 
Plying her needle and thread ; 

Stitch— stitch— stitch- 
In poverty, hunger and dirt ; 

And still with a voice of dolorous pitch — 

Would that its tone could reach the 
rich ! — ■ 
She sung the ' ' Song of the Shirt ! ' ' 
Thomas Hood. 



MARRIED FOR LOVE. 

A bachelor's retrospect of what might have been. 

U "TTKS, Jack Brown was a splendid 
JL fellow, 

But married for love, you know ; 
I remember the girl very well — 

Sweet little Kitty Duffau. 
Pretty, and loving, and good, 

And bright as a fairy elf, 
I was very much tempted indeed 
To marry Kitty myself. 



" But her friends were all of them poor, 

And Kitty had not a cent ; 
And I knew I should never be 

With ' love in a cottage' content. 
So Jack was the lucky wooer, 

Or unlucky — anyway 
You can see how shabby his coat, 

And his hair is turning gray. 

" But I'm told he thinks himself rich 

With Kitty and homely joys ; 
A cot far away out of town, 

Full of noisy girls and boys. 
Poor Jack ! I'm sorry, and all that, 

But of course he very well knew 
That fellows who marry for love 

Must drink of the liquor they brew." 

And the handsome Augustus smiled, 

His coat was in perfect style, 
And women still spoke of his grace, 

And gave him their sweetest smile. 
But he thought that night of Jack Brown, 

And said, " I'm growing old ; 
I think I must really marry 

Some beautiful girl with gold." 

Years passed, and the bachelor grew 

Tiresome and stupid and old ; 
He had not been able to find 

The beautiful girl with gold. 
Alone with his fancies he dwelt, 

Alone in the crowded town, 
Till one day he suddenly met 

The friend of his youth, Jack Brown. 

"Why, Gus!" "Why, Jack!" What a 
meeting ! 

Jack was so happy and gay ; 
The bachelor sighed for content, 

As he followed his friend away 
To the cot far out of town, 

Set deep in its orchard trees, 
Scented with lilies and roses, 

Cooled with the ocean breeze. 

"Why, Jack, what a beautiful place ! 

What did it cost ? " " Oh, it grew. 
There were only three rooms at first, 

Then soon the three were too few, 
So we added a room now and then ; 

And oft in the evening hours, 
Kitty, the children and I 

Planted the trees and flowers. 



148 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 



"And they grew as the children grew 

(Jack, Harry, and Grace and Belle)." 
' ' And where are the youngsters now ? ' ' 

" All happy and doing well. 
Jack went to Spain for our house, — 

His road is level and clear, — 
And Harry's a lawyer in town, 

Making three thousand a year. 

"And Grace and Belle are well married, — 

They married for love, as is best ; 
But often our birdies come back 

To visit the dear home nest. 
So my sweet wife Kitty and I 

From labor and care may cease ; 
We have enough, and age can bring 

Nothing but love and peace." 

But over and over again 

The bachelor thought that night, 
' ' Home and wife and children ! 

Jack Brown was, after all, right. 
Oh ! if in the days of my youth 

I had honestly loved and wed ! 
For now when I'm old there's no one cares 

Whether I'm living or dead." 



DEATH OF FAGIN. 

Before beginning to recite let the speaker give the following 
narrative in easy extemporaneous style : " In Dicken's story of 
Oliver Twist, is an old Jew called Fagin. He is the worst type 
of a man. Living in one of the dens of the Whitechapel district 
of London, he gains his livelihood by means of the crimes of 
others. He is known as a receiver of stolen goods, and trains 
boys to rob and steal. His home is a den of thieves and the 
abode of those steeped in every crime. It is in his house that 
Bill Sykes, Charley Bates, the Artful Dodger and others lay their 
plans for robbing, and it is here they bring their plunder. Nancy 
has been murdered by Bill Sykes. The police have arrested 
Fagin, and are in pursuit of Bill. Fagin has been tried and con- 
victed-as accessory to the crime, and is awaiting the sentence in 
Newgate prison. This old prison is almost opposite the ancient 
church of Old St. Sepulchers, where, for centuries its bells tolled 
whenever there was an execution in Newgate prison, and, near 
by stands the famous schoolhouse in which, also, for centuries, 
boys have been educated. The selection I am about to present 
is a scene with Fagin in prison; he is mumbling to himself, and 
his minds wanders ; partial insanity comes over him, and in this 
state he depicts in a rambling way his life. Rather than give the 
authorities the satisfaction of hanging him, he becomes his own 
executioner and chokes himself to death. Let us imagine the sur- 
roundings : prison, in the centre a grated door through which 
Fagin is discovered seated on a pallet. 

Who am I? Only a Jew. They call me 
Fagin. A poor old man am I. 
What a life has been mine ! It rises 
up before me ! I was not always thus. I 
remember when I was a boy, young, but 
never happy ! Surrounded by evil and my 
companions thieves. Oh ! how I have 
paced through London's street, sneered at 



by the jeering crowd — taunted because I was 
a Jew. Did they think that I could not 
enjoy the song of birds, the green grass and 
the bright sunshine, just the same as they ? 
Did they think, because I was a Jew, a hated 
Jew , I had no part or parcel with them ! Where 
am I now? Let me think, let me think! 
Oh ! yes, yes, yes, in Newgate prison, con- 
demned to die — and the blue coat boys from 
yonder school will laugh when they hear 
that the old Jew is gone. And the bell of 
St. Sepulcher will toll a Christian knell when 
I am gone. O ! Father Abraham, a Chris- 
tian knell for an old jew ! 

One night more alive. A poor old man 
condemned to die. I didn't kill her, it was 
Bill. Ah, ha ! they'll hang him, too. 
They'll sqeeze his thick bull-dog neck. My 
God ! twelve men to condemn a poor old 
man — a poor old man ; My Lord ! a poor 
old man. How cold and dark it is here 
(beating his hands) I shall go mad ! (mind 
wandering). Good boy, Charley; well done, 
Oliver, too ; I am very glad to see you. 
Ha ! ha ! Oliver is quite a gentleman, now. 
You are staring at the pocket handkerchiefs, 
he, my tere? There are a good many of 
them, ain't there ? We've just looked them 
out, ready for the wash, that's all Oliver, 
that's all, ha! ha ! ha ! 

Oh ! Bill, my tere, how do you do ? Oh ! 
you'll be better for what we've brought; 
spread the drapery, Nance. Ah, ha ! you'll 
do, Bill, now you'll do ; now don't be out of 
temper, Bill. I have never forgot you, Bill. 
Yon want some coin, eh ? I haven't any 
about me, but I'll see what I can do. Here, 
Artful! Here, Artful? there is the key of 
the drawer. You know where ? In the 
corner of it you'll find seven shillings. 

Aha ! clever dogs ; clever dogs ; staunch 
to the last . Never told the old parson where 
they were. Never peached upon old Fagin. 
No, no, no. Fine Fellows ; fine fellows. 
Some brandy, Bill. Yes, yes, some brandy. 
Thankee Bill ; that will do. 

Ah ! Nance, my tere, I never interfere 
when you and Bill quarrel — so much the 
better for me if you do. Good night. 'Tis 
about striking twelve. Good night ; good 
night. If they quarrel and separate they are 
mine together. What ! take you, Nance, 
with me ? I cannot, my tere, I cannot. 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 



149 



Who calls? Ah! the jailor. Yes, yes, 
my Lord ; you want some papers, my Lord? 
It's a lie, it's a lie, I have none, not one ! 
not one ! What ! you say that Monks has 
confessed all, and they are in pursuit of 
Sykes ? What ! hav'nt they got Bill ; will 
they let him go and hang me ? What ! 
Oliver here? I want to talk with you, 
Oliver, I want to talk with you. I want to 
talk with you, my tere. The papers are in 
a little canvas bag up the chimney in the top 
front room. You want to pray for me, 
Oliver, my tere ? Yes ! Outside, let us 
pray outside. Hush, tell 'em I'm asleep. 
They believe you ; you can get me out, if 
you take me so. How then, how then ? 
That's right, quick, — through the door; 
that will help us out. If I shake or trem- 
ble as we pass the gallows, don't mind me, 
but hurry on. Now, now, now, press on, 
softly, but not so slow. Now, faster, faster, 
there's no one lookin', faster, faster. Now, 
now, now. (Screams.) 

Ha ! they've gone and left me alone to 
die. ' Here, Bill Sykes, Bates, Charley, 
where are you ? Break down the walls and 
let me out. Oh ! curse you, if I had you 
here chained down. Ah! footsteps again, 
they come to take me to the gallows, to 
hang me until I'm dead, that's all. To 
hang me by the neck till I am dead. That's 
all. But they shall not. I'll cheat them, 
I'll cheatthem ! Ha ! ha ! I '11 cheat them, 
I'll cheat them ! (Chokes himself to death.) 
Cutting from Charles Dickens. 



TOM. 

Melo-Dramatic Narrative. 

YES, Tom's the best fellow that ever you 
knew. 

Just listen to this : 
When the old mill took fire, and the floor- 
ing fell through , 
And I with it, helpless, there, full in my 

view. 
What do you think my eyes saw through 

the fire, 
That crept along, crept along, nigher and 

nigher, 
But Robin, my baby-boy, laughing to see 
The shining ! He must have come there 
after me, 



Toddled alone from the cottage without 
Any one's missing him. Then, what a 

shout — 
Oh ! how I shouted, " For Heaven's sake, 

men, 
Save little Robin ! ' ' Again and again 
They tried, but the fire held them back like 

a wall 
I could hear them go at it, and at it, and call, 
" Never mind, baby, sit still like a man, 
We're coming to get you as fast as we can. ' ' 
They could not see him, but I could ; he sat 
Still on a beam, his little straw hat 
Carefully placed by his side, and his eyes 
Stared at the flame with a baby's surprise, 
Calm and unconscious, as nearer it crept. 
The roar of the fire up above must have kept 
The sound of his mother's voice shrieking 

his name 
From reaching the child. But / heard it. 

It came 
Again and again — O God, what a cry ! 
The axes went faster, I saw the sparks fly 
Where the men worked like tigers, nor 

minded the heat 
That scorched them — when, suddenly, there 

at their feet 
The great beams leaned in — they saw him — 

then, crash, 
Down came the wall ! The men made a 

dash — 
Jumped to get out of the way — and I 

thought 
" All's up with poor little Robin," and 

brought 
Slowly the arm that was least hurt to hide 
The sight of the child there, when swift, at 

my side, 
Some one rushed by, and went right through 

the flame 
Straight as a dart — caught the child — and 

then came 
Back with him — choking and crying, but 

saved ! 
Saved safe and sound ! 

Oh, how the men raved, 
Shouted, and cried, and hurrahed ! Then 

they all 
Rushed at the work again, lest the back 

wall 
Where I was lying, away from the fire, 
Should fall in and bury me. 



i5o 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 



Oh ! you'd admire 
To see Robin now, he's as bright as a dime, 
Deep in some mischief, too, most of the 

time. 
Tom, it was, saved him. Now isn't it true, 
Tom's the best fellow that ever you knew ? 
There's Robin now — see, he's strong as a 

log— 
And there comes Tom, too — 
Yes, Tom was our dog. 

Constance Fenimore Woolson. 



AFTER THE BATTLE. 

Appropriate for an Encore. 

IT was after the din of the battle 
Had ceased in the silence and gloom, 
When hushed was the musketry's rattle, 
And quiet the cannon's deep boom. 
The smoke of the conflict had lifted, 

And drifted away from the sun, 
While the soft crimson light, slowly fading 
from sight, 
Flashed back from each motionless gun. 

The tremulous notes of a bugle 

Rang out on the clear autumn air, 
And the echoes caught back from the 

mountains 
Faint whispers, like breathings of prayer. 
The arrows of sunlight that slanted 
Through the trees touched a brow white as 

snow, 
On the bloody sod lying, mid the dead and 

the dying, 
And it flushed in the last parting glow 

The dark, crimson tide slowly ebbing 

Stained red the light jacket of gray ; 
But another in blue sadly knelt by his side 

And watched the life passing away. 
Said the jacket in gray, " I've a brother — 

Joe Turner — he lives up in Maine. 
Give him these — and say my last message 
Was forgiveness." Here a low moan of 
pain 
Checked his voice. Then — " You'll do 
me this favor, 
For you shot me ' ' — and his whisper sank 
low. 
Says the jacket in blue, " Brother Charlie, 
There's no need — I'm your brother — I'm 
Joe." 

V. Staurt Mosby. 



A FAIRY TALE. 

Suited to Sunday school or Church Entertain- 
ment. 

This beautiful story may be told with impressive effect by a 
kindly sympathetic lady to children of the primary or inter- 
mediate grade in Sunday school. It should be related in an easy 
conversational style. 

Once upon a time there was a very small 
child all alone in the streets of a great 
big world. 

Now this child, unlike all the chil- 
dren ever heard of in fairy tales, was not 
the daughter of a great king and queen, 
and she didn't wear a frock trimmed with 
jewels, and she didn't have lots and lots of 
nurses to look after her, and she wasn't the 
heiress to the crown of a country, where all 
the pavements were made of solid silver, 
the area railings of polished steel, the king's 
palace of ivory, and his throne of pure gold, 
with so many precious stones sticking out 
of it that it was quite uncomfortable to sit 
down upon. No ! she was simply a very 
small girl indeed, with nothing of the 
proper fairy-tale small girl about her at all. 

She didn't quite know how it was that 
she came to be all alone. She had an in- 
distinct idea of a room somewhere near the 
sky ; at least she thought it was near the 
sky because the clouds seemed close to her 
when she climbed up on a chair and looked 
out of the window, and the room was right 
at the top of ever so many stairs. She 
seemed to recall, too, that the room was 
very bare and empty, and that she had often 
been hungry and thirsty and cold there, and 
that her mother had been there, lying on a 
bed and looking, oh ! so pale and thin, 
and had told her that she was going away 
to leave her, but that they should meet 
again in a bright, beautiful country. And 
she remembered too, — and as she remem- 
bered it the tears came into two little eyes 
and she sobbed piteously, — she remembered 
one day that her mother's face looked 
whiter, much whiter than before, and that 
she lay quite still and made no answer when 
the little girl called to her. And then some 
rough woman had told the child that her 
mother was dead, and that the room was 
wanted for some one else, and she must go. 

And so she had put on a little threadbare 
jacket and a little torn hat, through many 
holes in which her golden hair peeped out, 



. 










I 




THE MEETING OF LEANDER AND HERO 

(Suggestion for Tableau) 



(151) 




152) 



ONCE THERE WAS A LITTLE KITTY LONG TIME AGO 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 



153 



and had gone away all alone — it might have 
been yesterday, to-day, she knew not when 
— out into the streets of that great, big city, 
in that great, big world. 

It was a winter's evening, that once upon 
a time, and the snow was falling fast, and 
it was very cold. The little child was 
thinly clad (unlik a proper fairy-tale child), 
and had had no food for a long time, — 
years, it seemed to her. 

As her little steps wandered on, she 
passed a great many shops, and saw heaps 
and heaps of warm clothing and food 
inside great windows, lighted up with ever 
so many bright lights ; and she wondered 
how it was that she was so cold and hungry, 
and why some one did not come out of one 
of the big shops and give her clothing and 
food ; and she thought how strange it 
was that all those things should be inside 
the big windows that she could just look in 
when she stood on tip-toe, while she was 
standing there, such a very tiny girl and 
wanting ever so little of what she saw. 

The little child looked wistfully into the 
big bright windows one after another, but she 
shook and shivered so that she ran on at last 
although she felt strange and heavy and 
giddy, and she ran and ran until she found 
that she had passed away from the bright 
lights and was in a dark road in which the 
snow was lying much more thickly, and 
looking much whiter, than in the streets 
through which she had gone. 

The little girl's limbs would carry her no 
farther, and she half sank down in the 
snow ; but ohe saw suddenly, looming out 
in the dark by the wa3^side, a large, wooden 
shed, the door of which was standing wide 
open, and turning her fast-failing steps to it, 
she crept timidly inside. It was quite dark 
there, and she lay down on the floor with 
her little head pillowed against a piece of 
wood. 

Wondering drowsily why it was that she 
had ceased to be hungry or cold, and why 
her limbs seemed as if they had no feeling 
at all, the child lay there, and gradually 
her eyes closed. 

Suddenly she became conscious of a daz- 
zling light ; and looking up she saw a 
beautiful fairy standing by her side, with 
white rustling wings and a halo of light 



shining all round her. She was looking 
down on the child with a look of sweet 
compassion on her face. 

' ' Little one, ' ' said the fairy in a soothing, 
gentle voice, and as she spoke she bent 
over the child and stroked the small face, 
" welcome into fairyland." 

The child looked round her in speechless 
wonder, and behold ! the dark wooden 
shed had vanished and she was lying on a 
grassy bank, surrounded by lovely flowers 
of all colors, and the sun was shining above, 
and birds were singing all about her, and 
near her troops of children all dressed in daz- 
zling white were at play , making the air ring 
with joyous peals of laughter that seemed 
just to chime in with the singing of the birds ; 
and faries, like the one standing by her, 
were watching' over the children as they 
played. 

She was so filled with wonder that she 
answered not the fairy, and again the sweet 
voice said : 

" Little one, welcome into fairyland." 

' ' Am I in fairyland ? ' ' answered the child 
this time. " They took mother away from 
me, and said she was dead, and told me to 
go, and I was very cold and hungry, and I 
ran ever so far, and I thought I was lying 
down in a great, dark place. And oh ! 
don't send me away; let me stay here, 
please, please let me stay here, and not go 
into the snow again. I am such a little 
thing to be all alone in the great, big streets, 
and I will be so good if I may stay. ' ' 

The tears started into the child's eyes as 
she pleaded her cause, and the fairy stooped 
down and kissed them away. 

" Yes, my child, you shall stay with us 
in fairyland, and never go into the great 
streets again." 

"Oh! thank you," said the child, and 
she threw her arms around the still bending 
fairy, and kissed her again and again. 

' ' Just now, ' ' the little girl said presently, 
" I was, oh ! so cold, and hungry and tired, 
and now I feel so peaceful and rested, and 
as if I could never be cold and hungry 
again. Why is it? " 

' ' There is neither hunger nor cold here, 
my little one. The sun is always shining 
as you see it now, the birds are ever singing 
as you hear them now, the flowers never 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 



fade, the leaves never fall, and those chil- 
dren now at play are ever bright and happy. 
Many little travelers like you have found 
their way into cur bright land through paths 
of sorrow and suffering ; but see them now 
how joyous they are." 

The fairy pointed to the group of chil- 
dren, and the little girl followed the move- 
ment with her eyes. She looked in silence 
for a minute, and then she spoke again : 
" Yoa are so good and kind, and I seem to 
ask so many things, but oh! forgive me for 
one question more. The children that I 
see, have their mothers been taken from 
them as mine was taken from me ? and will 
they ever be with them again ? ' ' 

" My darling," answered the fairy, with 
infinite tenderness in her voice, ' ' they have 
already seen their mothers again, and you 
will see your own lost mother. Look at me 
— look into my face — you knew me not at 
first, but you know me now, oh ! you know 
me now, my little one." 

The child looked into the fairy's face for 
an instant — the word " Mother ! " burst 
from her lips, and the two were folded in 
each other's arms. 

Next day, when workmen came into the shed, 
They found a child there, lying cold and dead. 
And on the little upturned face they saw 
A smile so bright and joyous that in awe 
They stood uncovered. But the mortal clay 
Alone was there — the soul had winged its way. 

K. F. Turner. 



THE GLACIER BED. 

In Switzerland, a bridegroom left his bride at the door, as they 
returned from the church, to guide a party of tourists. The wife 
promised to keep a light in the window until he should come home; 
but the guider-bridegroom fell through a ravine, and returned not 
to his wife. The widow learned that in fifty years the glacier 
would emerge from the ravine, she waited and watched, and at 
last she beheld her husband frozen in the ice. 

Burning, burning, burning for ever, by 
night and day, 
Let be the light in my window, don't 
touch it, don't take it away ! 
With the sap of my life I have fed my lamp 

that its flame should burn 
Till the morn of our bridal night, till my 
love, my husband, return. 

What say you ? he is dead ! I will not 

believe it ; no ! 
We were wedded — who can remember that ? 

'tis so long ago — 



At the church of our mountain village ; the 
morning light shone down 

From the glittering peaks of the Alps to 
circle my bridal crown. 

Oh me, the joy of us two that blessed day 

made one ! 
The song of the happy children, the flowers, 

the dancing sun, 
All these were about us that time he led me 

home as his bride — 
When the strangers crossed our path, and 

he heard them call for a guide. 

And duty o'erm asters love, and he dared 

not deny that call, 
For among our Alpine heroes, they knew 

him, the bravest of all : 
With a foot and an eye and an arm to match 

with his dauntless heart ; 
And I knew where his honor led — though 

loth we were to part. 

But his honor, his choice, his desire, was 

mine, for I loved him so ; 
When I looked in my darling's face I was 

brave and I bade him go. 
I stayed at our chalet door, and he tore 

himself away 
From the virgin kisses of love, and the joy 

of our marriage day. 

" I'll come back to thee, dear," he said, 

' ' when the moutain is veiled in night ; 
Set a lamp in thy window to shine as my 

star, my guiding light ; 
Through the winding paths of ice, from 

beneath, from above, 
Let my eyes be fixed on my bridal-chamber, 

my new- wedded love." 

And fixed as ice was my gaze that followed 

him as he went ; 
And yet, when I saw him go, I was more 

than happy — content ; 
The warmth of his arms was around me, 

my lips was thrilled to his kiss ; 
My soul had tasted his love — could Heaven 

be sweeter than this ? 

And I knew that nothing could part us 

more, in life or in death, 
I saw him not — and I saw him again, far 

down beneath, 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 



155 



In the brave: 3 gay wedding clothes 

— and i grew dim 

With the sti the dizzy height, as 

they looked their last on him . 

I knew he would hold to his promise — I 

never would fail of mine : 
That was our bridal night when I trimmed 

my lamp to shine 
Till he came from the fields of ice, to our 

chalet safe and warm, 
Closed in from the thickening night, and 

the smiting blast of the storm. 

That was our bridal night — hist ! the fiends 

of the mountain dance 
To the shrieks of the lost, as they grope 

their way 'neaththelightning'sglance; 
Till the dark and the dawn bring the day, 

and I wait at the chalet door 
For my bridegroom of yester-eve, for my 

joy that returns no more. 

But the sun shines on, and the path is clear 

from valley to peak : 
Whence come ye to look in my face the tale 

that ye dare not speak ? 
All the rest were safe, he had led them 

bravely through, they said : 
But my own true-hearted husband was lost 

in the glacier-bed. 

He will come again, I whispered, and, pity- 
ing, they turned away. 

And that light still burns since we parted, 
it seems but yesterday. 

So long ago ! What ? 'Tis fifty years to- 
morrow, you said : 

That was the time, I heard, when the ice 
should give back the dead, — 

When the glazier that froze his young blood, 

in the depth of the dark ravine 
Where he fell through the rift and perished, 

should work its way unseen 
Towards the mouth of the icy gulf, through 

the years of creeping days ; 
Now, now, 'tis the time, let me go, for I 

know that my bridegroom stays. 

My lamp is alight, I have toiled, I have 

starved to feed its fire, 
Through a long life slowly wasting in pangs 

of one desire. 



I thought it was never coming, and now the 

end is nigh : 
I shall look on his face that I loved in my 

youth, before I die. 

I go to seek him now, where he lies in the 

glacier-bed — 
Ah, cold and flinty pillow for my darling's 

golden head ! — 
In his beauty and strength of manhood, 

frozen to changeless stone — 
There, there ! I have found him at last ! 

oh, my love, my love, my own ! 

Now, bear us forth together, the bride- 
groom and the bride, 

To the church of our mountain village, and 
lay us side by side, 

'Neath the stone where God joined us, and 
bound our souls in eternal truth, 

And the virgin widow shall rest with the 
husband of her youth. 

How long have I wearied for this since that 

day of bliss and woe ? 
Do the children laugh, as they say it was 

fifty years ago ? 
What has time to do with our love ? for the 

spirit within me saith 
I shall meet him for evermore, when I 

change this body of death. 

He is calling me now by my name in the 

voice of the vanished years, 
And my life in its tender music dissolves to 

a passion of tears ; 
The shadows fall from the neights, the lamp 

in my window burns dim, 
The silence quenches my breath as I pass 

away to him. 

Emii,a Ay^mer Blake. 



"W 



THE TRYSTING WELL. 

By permission of the author. 

hy, Nellie, how's this?" said 
Farmer Brown, 
Driving his team from the 
market town. 
But never a word from her red lips fell, 
As smiling she stood at the trysting well. 
" Women is odd," the old farmer said, 
And he cracked his whip and shook his 
head. 



156 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 



The farmer no sooner had left the place 

Than a change came over the maiden's face ; 

The smile had gone like a rippling wave, 

And the look on her face was sad and grave. 

Then, shading her eyes with her small, 
white hand, 

The dusty road and the fields she scanned ; 

She saw the late birds as they nest- 
ward flew, 

And glanced at the shadows that longer 
grew ; 

She heard the faint strokes of the village 
bell, 

Yet lonely she watched at the trysting well. 

Now old Farmer Brown loved to drink and 

smoke,- 
But the pride of his heart was to play a 

joke, 
And scarce from the well had he passed 

awa}^ 
When he met a young horseman hard riding 

and gay : 
"Ah, lad," cried the farmer, "you're late, 

you're late, 
Your lass I saw pass through the meadow 

gate ! ' ' 
" True, Farmer Brown, I have been delayed 
By a shoe cast off from this sorrel jade ; 
Though just what you mean by that last 

remark 
Concerning a lass, why, I'm quite in the 

dark." 
The young man colored and grasped his 

rein, 
But to Farmer Brown his deceit was plain, 
Aye, far beyond doubt, when he saw him 

strike 
His mare till she flew down the dusty pike. 
And the farmer winked as he saw him pass, 
Like the wind, o'er the dewey meadow 

grass ; 
Yes, the sly old dog watched the horseman 

fleet 
Till his form was lost in the village street. 
Then loud on the air his wild laughter 

broke 
At the big success of his clever joke. 

By the merest chance, on that eve it fell, 
That a man strode up to the trysting well ; 
He had stopped at the moss-grown, limpid 
pool 



To slake his thirst with its waters cool. 
" Gerald !" He started, and made reply, 
As a shadowy phantom caught his eye. 
"Not Gerald, Miss Nellie," he quickly 

said, 
" But I hope, for this once, I'll do instead." 
Like a surging sea of crimson flame 
The hot blood swift to her temples came. 
Her lover's rival before her stood, 
And she alone, in the darkening wood. 
Below them the village lamp lights lay, 
Cheering the gloom of the fading day. 
"As I, too, am going the self-same way, 
Allow me to be your escort, pray." 
His voice was sincere, and implied respect, 
And he drew his sinewy form erect. 
Though her thoughts and fears were but 

half concealed, 
There was nothing left but to bow and 

yield. 

When the rider dashed off from old Farmer 

Brown 
And rode through the streets of the little 

town ; 
When he hitched his mare to the garden 

tree 
And looked for the face that he did not see ; 
When he heard that his Nellie was still 

away, 
Then jealousy, love and wild dismay 
For a moment held him a captive chained, 
But the next, and his .reason was full 

regained . 
The round harvest moon o'er the hilltop lay 
As on foot through the village he took his 

way. 
He had gone not far when he met a sight, 
That made him doubt that he saw aright. 
No pistols were drawn, no duel was fought, 
But a lesson was learned and a trick was 

taught ; 
And the three stood there in the moonlit 

town 
Planning a penance for Farmer Brown. 

And it happened the very next market day 
As he drove along on his homeward way. 
Half the village turned out the old fellow 

to see 
Tied wrong side up to a hickory tree : 
And they laughed and they shouted to hear 

him yell, 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 157 

As he dangled right over the trysting well. "Ho, saddle the black! I've but half a 

day, 
Farmer Brown still enjoys his sociable And the Congress sits eighty miles away, — 
smokes, But I'll be in time, if God grants me grace, 

But should you ever meet him — don't To shake my fist in King George's face." 
mention jokes. 

Geo. M. Vickkrs. He is up ; he is off ! and the black horse 

flies, 

On the northward road ere the ' ' God- 
RODNEY'S RIDE. speed ! " dies. 

Spirited Description. Xt is g allo P and s P ur > as the leagues they 

clear, 

In that soft mid-land where the breezes And the clustering milestones move a-rear. 
bear 

The north and the south on the genial It is two of the clock ; and the fleet hoofs 

air, fling 

Through the county of Kent, on affairs of The Fieldsboro's dust with a clang and 

state, cling. 

Rode Caesar Rodney, the delegate. It is three ; and he gallops with slack rein 

where 

Burly and big, and bold and bluff, The road winds down to the Delaware. 
In his three-cornered hat and his suit of 

snuff, Four ! and he spurs into Newcastle town, 
A foe to King George and the English state From his panting steed he gets him down- 
Was Csesar Rodney, the delegate. "A fresh one, quick; not a moment's 

wait ! ' ' 

Into Dover village he rode apace, And off speeds Rodney, the delegate. 
And his kinsfolk knew from his anxious 

face, It is five ; and the beams of the western 
It was matter grave that had brought him sun 

there, Tinge the spires of Wilmington, gold and 
To the counties three upon Delaware. dun ; 

Six ; and the dust of the Chester street 

" Money and men we must have," he said, Flies back in a cloud from his courser's 
" Or the Congress fails and our cause is feet. 

dead. 

Give us both and the king shall not work It is seven ; the horse boat, broad of beam, 

his will ; At the Schuylkill ferry crawls over the 
We are men, since the blood of Bunker stream ; 

Hill ! " And at seven-fifteen by the Rittenhouse 

clock 

Comes a rider swift on a panting bay : He flings his rein to the tavern Jock. 
" Hold, Rodney, ho ! you must save the 

day, The Congress is met ; the debate's begun, 

For the Congress halts at a deed so great, And liberty lags for the vote of one — 

And your vote alone may decide its fate ! " When into the hall, not a moment late, 

Walks Caesar Rodney, the delegate. 
Answered Rodney then : "I will ride with 

Speed ; Not a moment late ! and that half-day's ride 

It is liberty's stress ; it is freedom's need. Forwards the world with a mighty stride, — 

When meets it ? " "To-night. Not a mo- For the Act was passed, ere the midnight 

ment spare, stroke 

But ride like the wind, from the Delaware. " O'er the Quaker City its echoes woke. 



158 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 



At Tyranny's feet was the gauntlet flung ; 
' ' We are free ! " all the bells through the 

colonies rung, 
And the sons of the free may recall with 

pride 
The day of delegate Rodney's ride. 

EiyBRiDGK S. Brooks. 



THE BELLS. 



This selection — excellent for voice culture — is a great favorite 
with reciters. The musical flow of the metre and the happy- 
selection of the words make it possible for the speaker to closely 
imitate the tones of the ringing bells. 



H 



ear the sledges with the bells — 
Silver bells — 
What a world of merriment 
their melody foretells ! 
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, 

In the icy air of night ! 
While the stars that oversprinkle 
All the heavens, seem to twinkle 

With a crystalline delight — 
Keeping time, time, time, 
In a sort of Runic rhyme, 
To the tintinnabulation that so musically 
swells 
From the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
Bells, bells, bells— 
From the jingling and the tinkling of the 
bells. 

Hear the mellow wedding bells — 
Golden bells ! 
What a world of happiness their harmony 
foretells ! 
Through the balmy air of night 
How they ring out their delight ! 
From the molten-golden notes, 

And all in tune, 
What a liquid ditty floats 
To the turtledove that listens, while she 
gloats 

On the moon ! 
Oh, from out the sounding cells, 
What a gush of euphony voluminously 
wells ! 

How it swells ! 

How it dwells 

On the Future ! how it tells 

Of the rapture that impels 

To the swinging and the ringing 

Of the bells, bells, bells, 



Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
Bells, bells, bells— 
To the rhyming and the chiming of the 
bells. 

Hear the loud alarum bells- 
Brazen bells ! 
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency 
tells ! 
In the startled ear of night 
How they scream out their affright 
Too much horrified to speak, 
They can only shriek, shriek, 
Out of tune, 
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of 

the fire, 
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and 
frantic fire 
Leaping higher, higher, higher, 
With a desperate desire, 
And a resolute endeavor, 
Now — now to sit or never, 
By the side of the palefaced moon. 
Oh, the bells, bells, bells, 
What tale their terror tells 
Of despair! 
How they clang, and clash, and roar ! 
What a horror they outpour 
On the bosom of the palpitating air ! 
Yet the ear it fully knows, 
By the twanging 
And the clanging 
How the danger ebbs and flows ! 
Yet the ear distinctly tells, 
In the jangling 
And the wrangling 
How the danger sinks and swells, 
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger 
of the bells — 
Of the bells— 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
Bells, bells, bells— 
In the clamor and the clangor of the 
bells ! 

Hear the tolling of the bells — 
Iron bells ! 
What a world of solemn thought their 
monody compels 
In the silence of the night, 
How we shiver with affright 
At the melancholy menace of their tone! 
For every sound that floats 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 



159 



From the rust within their throats 

Is a groan. 
And the people — ah, the people — 
They that dwell up in the steeple, 

All alone, 
And who tolling, tolling, tolling, 

In that muffled monotone, 
Feel a glory in so rolling 

On the human heart a stone. 
They are neither man nor woman — 
They are neither brute nor human — 

They are ghouls : 
And their king it is who tolls ; 
And he rolls, rolls, rolls, 
Rolls 
A paean from the bells ! 
And his merry bosom swells 

With the paean of the bells ! 
And he dances and he yells ; 
Keeping time, time, time, 
In a sort of Runic rhyme, 
To the paean of the bells — 
Of the bells : 
Keeping time, time, time, 
In a sort of Runic rhyme, 

To the throbbing of the bells — 
Of the bells, bells, bells— 

To the sobbing of the bells ; 
Keeping time, time, time, 

As he knells, knells, knells, 
In a happy Runic rhyme, 

To the rolling of the bells — 
Of the bells, bells, bells— 

To the tolling of the bells, 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells- 
Bells, bells, bells— 
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. 
Edgar Allan Poe. 



THE FIREMAN. 

The slumbering city and the sleeper's dream in this selection 
afford an easy, pleasing description. The exciting story of tbe 
fire forms a dramatic conclusion. 

THE city slumbers. O'er its mighty 
walls 
Night's dusky mantle, soft and silent 
falls ; 
Sleep o'er the world slow waves its wand of 

lead, 
And ready torpors wrap each sinking head. 
Stilled is the air of labor and of life ; 
Hushed is the hum and tranquilized the 
strife. 



Man is at rest, with all his hopes and fears ; 
The young forget their sports, the old their 

cares ; 
The grave are careless ; those who joy or 

weep 
All rest contented on the arm of sleep. 

Sweet is the pillowed rest of beauty now, 
As slumber smiles upon her tranquil brow ; 
Her bright dreams lead her to the moonlit 

tide, 
Her heart's own partner wandering by her 

side ; 
'Tis summer's eve ; the soft gales scarcely 

rouse 
The low-voiced ripple and the rustling 

boughs ; 
And, faint and far, some minstrel's melting 

tone 
Breathes to her heart a music like its own. 

When, hark! O horror! what a crash is 

there ! 
What shriek is that which fills the midnight 

air? 
'Tis fire ! 'tis fire ! She wakes to dream no 

more; 
The hot blast rushes through the blazing 

door ; 
The dun smoke eddies round ; and, hark ! 

that cry : 
" Help ! help ! Will no one aid ? I die, I 

die! " 
She seeks the casement ; shuddering at its 

height 
She turns again ; the fierce flames mock her 

night ; 
Along the crackling stairs they fiercely play, 
And roar, exulting, as they seize their prey. 
' ' Help ! nelp ! Will no one come ? ' ' She 

can no more, 
But, pale and breathless, sinks upon the 

floor. 

Will no one save thee? Yes, there is one 
Remains to save, when hope itself is gone; 
When all have fled, when all but him would 

fly. 

The fireman comes, to rescue or to die. 
He mounts the stair, — it wavers 'neath his 

tread ; 
He seeks the room, flames flashing round 

his head ; 



i6o 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 



He bursts the door ; he lifts her prostrate 

frame, 
And turns again to brave the raging flame. 
The fire-blast smites him with its stifling 

breath ; 
The falling timbers menace him with death; 
The sinking floors is hurried step betray ; 
And ruin crashes round his desperate way ; 
Hot smoke obscures, ten thousand cinders 

rise, 
Yet still he staggers forward with his prize ; 
He leaps from burning stair to stair. On ! 

on ! 
Courage ! One effort more, and all is won ! 
The stair is passed,— the blazing hall is 

braved ; 
Still on! yet on! once more! Thank Heaven , 

she's saved ! 

Robert T. Conrad. 



THE DEATH OF THE OLD SQUIRE. 

The Descriptive and Dramatic powers have ex- 
cellent opportunity in this number. 

^^pWAS a wild, mad kind of night, as 
X black as the bottomless pit ; 

The wind was howling away like a 
Bedlamite in a fit, 
Tearing the ash boughs off, and mowing the 

poplars down, 
In the meadows beyond the old flour mill, 
where you turn off to the town. 

And the rain (well, it did rain) dashing 

against the widow glass, 
And deluging on the roof, as the Devil were 

come to pass ; 
The gutters were running in floods outside 

the stable door, 
And the spouts splashed from the tiles, as 

they would never give o'er. 

Lor , how the winders rattled ! you'd almost 

ha' thought that thieves 
Were wrenching at the shutters, while a 

ceaseless pelt of leaves 
Flew to the doors in gusts ; and I could hear 

the beck 
Falling so loud I knew at once it was up to 

a tall man's neck. 

We was huddling in the harness-room by a 
little scrap of fire, 



And Tom, the coachman, he was there a- 

practicing for the choir, 
But it sounded dismal, anthem did, for 

Squire was dying fast, 
And the doctor said, do what he would, 

Squire's breaking up at last. 

The death-watch, sure enough, ticked loud 

just over th' owd mare's head, 
Though he had never once been heard up 

there since master's boy lay dead ; 
And the only sound, besides Tom's toon, 

was the stirring in the stalls, 
And the gnawing and the scratching of the 

rats in the owd walls. 

We couldn't hear Death's foot pass by, but 

we knew that he was near, 
And the chill rain and the wind and cold 

made us all shake with fear ; 
We listened to the clock up -stairs, 'twas 

breathing soft and low 
For the nurse said, at the turn of night the 

old Squire's soul would go. 

Master had been a wildish man, and led a 

roughish life ; 
Didn't he shoot the Bowton squire, who 

dared write to his wife ? 
He beat the Rads at Hindon Town, I heard, 

in twenty-nine. 
When every pail in market-place was 

brimmed with red port wine. 

And as for hunting, bless your soul, why, 

for forty year or more 
He'd kept the Marley hounds, man, as his 

fayther did afore ; 
And now to die and in his bed — the season 

jnst begun — 
" It made him fret," the doctor said, " as it 

might do any one." 

And when the sharp young lawyer came to 

see him sign his will, 
Squire made me blow my horn outside as we 

were going to kill ; 
And we turned the hounds out in the court — 

that seemed to do him good ; 
For he swore, and sent us off to seek a fox 

in Thornhill Wood. 

But then the fever it rose high and he would 
go see the room 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 



161 



Where mistress died ten years ago when 
Lammastide shall come ; 

I mind the year, because our mare at Salis- 
bury broke down ; 

Moreover, the town-hall was burnt at Steeple 
Dinton Town. 

It might be two, or half-past two, the wind 

seemed quite asleep ; 
Tom, he was off, but I, awake, sat watch 

and ward to keep ; 
The moon was up, quite glorious like, the 

rain no longer fell, 
When all at once out clashed and clanged 

the rusty turret bell. 

That hadn't been heard for twenty years, not 

since the Luddite days. 
Tom he leaped up, and I leaped up, for all 

the house a-blaze 
Had sure not scared us half so much, and 

out we ran like mad, 
I, Tom and Joe, the whipper-in and t' liflte 

stable lad. 

" He's killed himself," that's the idea that 
came into my head ; 

I felt as sure as though I saw Squire Bar- 

rowly was dead ; 
When all at once a door flew back, and he 

met us face to face ; 
His scarlet coat was on his back, and he 

looked like the old race. 

The nurse was clinging to his knees, and 

crying like a child ; 
The maids were sobbing on the stairs, for he 

looked fierce and wild ; 
" Saddle me Lightning Bess, my men," 

that's what he said to me : 
" The moon is up, we're sure to find at Stop 

or Etterly. 

" Get out the dogs ; I'm well to night, and 

young again and sound, 
I'll have a run once more before they put me 

under ground ; 
They brought my father home feet first, and 

it never shall be said 
That his son Joe, who rode so straight, died 

quietly in his bed. 

II Brandy !" he cried ; " a tumbler full, you 

women howling there," 



Then clapped the old black velvet cap upon 

his long gray hair, 
Thrust on his boots, snatched down his 

whip, though he was old and weak ; 
There was a devil in his eye that would not 

let me speak. 

We loosed the dogs to humor him, and 

sounded on the horn ; 
The moon was up above the woods, just east 

of Haggard Bourne. 
I buckled Lightning's throat-lash fast, the 

Squire was watching me ; 
He let the stirrups down himself so quick, 

yet carefully. 

Then up he got and spurred the mare and, 

ere I well could mount, 
He drove the yard-gate open, man, and 

called to old Dick Blount, 
Our huntsman, dead five years ago — for the 

fever rose again, 
And was spreading like a flood of flame fast 

up into his brain. 

Then off he flew before the dogs, yelling to 

call us on, 
While we stood there, all pale and dumb, 

scarce knowing he was gone ; 
We mounted, and below c he hill we saw the 

fox break out, 
And down the covert ride we heard the old 

Squire's parting shout. 

And in the moonlit meadow mist we saw 

him fly the rail 
Beyond the hurdles by the beck, just half 

way down the vale ; 
I saw him breast fence after fence — nothing 

could turn him back ; 
And in the moonlight after him streamed out 

the brave old pack. 

'Twas like a dream, Tom cried to me, as we 

rode free and fast, 
Hoping to turn him at the brook, that could 

not well be passed, 
For it was swollen with the rain; but ah, 

'twas not to be ; 
Nothing could stop old Lightning Bess but 

the broad breast of the sea. 

The hounds swept on, and well in front the 
mare had got her stride ; 



l62 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE ■ 



She broke across the fallow land that runs 

by the down side: 
We pulled up on Chalk Linton Hill, and, as 

we stood us there, 
Two fields beyond we saw the Squire fall 

stone-dead from the mare. 

Then she swept on, and in full cry the 

hounds went out of sight ; 
A cloud came over the broad moon and 

something dimmed our sight, 
As Tom and I bore master home, both 

speaking under breath ; 
And that's the way I saw th' owd Squire 

ride boldly to his death. 



THE GLADIATOR. 

Stillness reigned in the vast amphithea- 
tre, and from the countless thousands 
that thronged thespaciousinclosure, not 
a breath was heard. Every tongue was mute 
with suspense, and every eye strained with 
anxiety toward the gloomy portal where the 
gladiator was momentarily expected to 
enter. At length the trumpet sounded, and 
they led him forth into the broad arena. 
There was no mark of fear upon his manly 
countenance, as with majestic step and 
fearless eye he entered. He stood there, 
like another Apollo, firm and unbending as 
the rigid oak. His fine proportioned form 
was matchless, and his turgid muscles spoke 
his giant strength. 

" I am here," he cried, as his proud lip 
curled in scorn, " to glut the savage eye of 
Rome's proud populace. Aye, like a dog 
you throw me. to a beast ; and what is my 
offense? Why, forsooth, I am a Christian. 
But know, ye can not fright my soul, for it 
is based upon a foundation stronger than the 
adamantine rock. Know ye, whose hearts 
are harder than the flinty stone, my heart 
quakes not with fear ; and here I aver, I 
would not change conditions with the blood- 
stained Nero, crowned though he be, not for 
the wealth of Rome. Blow ye your trum- 
pet — I am ready." 

The trumpet sounded, and a long, low 
growl was heard to proceed from the cage of 
a half- famished Numidian lion, situated at 
the farthest end of the arena. The growl 
deepened into a roar of tremendous volume, 



which shook the enormous edifice to its 
very centre. At that moment the door was 
thrown open, and the huge monster of the 
forest sprang from his den, with one mighty 
bound to the opposite side of the arena. 
His eyes blazed with the brilliancy of fire, 
as he slowly drew his length along the sand, 
and prepared to make a spring upon his 
formidable antagonist. The gladiator's eyes 
quailed not ; his lip paled not ; but he stood 
immovable as a statue, waiting the approach 
of his wary foe. 

At length, the lion crouched himself into 
an attitude for springing, and with the quick- 
ness of lightning, leaped full at the throat 
of the gladiator. But he was prepared for 
him, and bounding lightly on one side, his 
falchion flashed for a moment over his head, 
and in the next it was deeply dyed in the 
purple blood of the monster. A roar of 
redoubled fury again resounded through the 
spacious amphitheatre, as the enraged ani- 
mal, mad with the anguish from the wound 
he had just received, wheeled hastily round 
and sprang a second time at the Nazarene, 

Again was the falchion of the cool and 
intrepid gladiator deeply planted in the 
breast of his terrible adversary ; but so sud- 
den had been the second attack, that it was 
impossible to avoid the full impetus of his 
bound, and he staggered and fell upon his 
knee. The monster's paw was upon his 
shoulder, and he felt its hot fiery breath upon 
his cheek, as it rushed through his wide dis- 
tended nostrils. The Nazarene drew a short 
dagger from his girdle, and endeavored to 
regain his feet. But his foe, aware of his 
design, precipitating himself upon him, 
threw him with violence to the ground. 

The excitement of the populace was now 
wrought up to a high pitch, and they waited 
the result with breathless suspense. A low 
growl of satisfaction now announced the 
noble animal's triumph, as he sprang fiercely 
upon his prostrate enemy . But it was of short 
duration ; the dagger of the gladiator pierced 
his vitals, and together they rolled over and 
over, across the broad arena. Again the 
dagger drank deep of the monster's blood, 
and again a roar of anguish reverberated 
through the stately edifice. 

The Nazarene, now watching his oppor- 
tunity, sprang with the velocity of thought 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 



163 



from the terrific embrace of his enfeebled 
antagonist, and regained his falchion, which 
had fallen to the ground in the struggle, he 
buried it deep in the heart of the infuriated 
beast. The noble king of the forest, faint 
from the loss of blood, concentrated all his 
remaining strength in one mighty bound; 
but it was too late ; the last blow had been 
driven home to the centre of life, and his 
huge form fell with a mighty crash upon the 
arena, amid the thundering acclamations of 
the populace. 



THE SIOUX CHIEF'S DAUGHTER. 



Great, dramatic skill is required for a proper 
selection. 



idering of this 



Two gray hawks ride the rising blast ; 
Dark cloven clouds drive to and fro 
By peaks pre-eminent in snow ; 
A sounding river rushes past, 
So wild, so vortex-like, and vast. 
A lone lodge tops the windy hill ; 
A tawny maiden, mute and still, 
Stands waiting at the river's brink, 
As weird and wild as you can think. 
A mighty chief is at her feet ; 
She does not heed him wooing so — 
She hears the dark, wild waters flow ; 
She waits her lover, tall and fleet, 
From far gold fields of Idaho, 
Beyond the beaming hills of snow. 

He comes ! The grim chief springs in air — 

His brawny arm, his blade is bare. 

She turns ; she lifts her round, brown hand ; 

She looks him fairly in the face ; 

She moves her foot a little pace 

And says, with coldness and command, 

" There's blood enough in this lorn land. 

" But see ! a test of strength and skill, 
Of courage and fierce fortitude ; 
To breast and wrestle with the rude 
And storm -born waters, now I will 
Bestow you both. Stand either side ! 
Take you my left, tall Idaho ; 
And you, my burly chief, I know 
Would choose my right. Now peer you low 
Across the waters wild and wide. 
See ! leaning so this morn I spied 
Red berries dip yon farther side. 
See, dipping, dripping in the stream, 
Twin boughs of autumn berries gleam \ 



Now this, brave men, shall be the test : 
Plunge in the stream, bear knife in teeth 
To cut yon bough for bridal wreath. 
Plunge in ! and he who bears him best, 
And brings yon ruddy fruit to land 
The first shall have both heart and hand." 
Two tawny men, tall, brown, and thewed 
Like antique bronzes rarely seen, 
Shot up lik flame. She stood between 
Like fixed, impassive fortitude. 
Then one threw robes with sullen air, 
And wound red fox-tails in his hair ; 
But one with face of proud delight 
Entwined a crest of snowy white. 

She stood between. She sudden gave 
The sign, and each impatient brave 
Shot sudden in the sounding wave ; 
The startled waters gurgled round ; 
Their stubborn strokes kept sullen sound. 

They near the shore at last ; and now 
The foam flies spouting from a face 
That laughing lifts from out the race. 

The race is won, the work is done ! 
She sees the climbing crest of snow ; 
She knows her tall, brown Idaho. 
She cries aloud, she laughing cries, 
And tears are streaming from her eyes. 
" O splendid, kingly Idaho ! 
I kiss his lifted crest of snow ; 
I see him clutch the bended bough ! 
'Tis cleft — he turns ! is coming now ! 

' ' My tall and tawny king come back ! 
Come swift, O sweet ! why falter so ? 
Come ! Come ! What thing has crossed 

your track ? 
I kneel to all the gods I know. 
Oh come, my manly Idaho ! 
Great Spirit, what is this I dread ? 
Why there is blood ! the wave is red ! 
That wrinkled chief, outstripped in race, 
Dives down, and, hiding from my face, 

Strikes underneath ! He rises now ! 
Now plucks my hero's berry bough; 
And lifts aloft his red fox head, 
And signals he has won for me. 
Hist, softly ! Let him come to see. 

' ' Oh come ! my white-crowned hero, come ! 
Oh come ! and I will be your bride, 
Despite yon chieftain's craft and might. 



164 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 



Come back to me ! my lips are dumb, 

My hands are helpless with despair ; 

The hair you kissed, my long, strong hair, 

Is reaching to the ruddy tide, 

That you may clutch it when you come. 

' ' How slow he buffets back the wave ! 
O God, he sinks ! O Heaven ! save 
My brave, brave boy ! He rises ! See ! 
Hold fast, my boy ! Strike ! strike for me. 
Strike straight this way ! Strike firm and 

strong ! 
Hold fast your strength. It is not long — 
O God, he sinks ! He sinks ! Is gone ! 
His face has perished from my sight. 

"And did I dream, and do I wake? 
Or did I wake and now but dream ? 
And what is this crawls from the stream ? 
Oh, here is some mad, mad mistake ! 
What, you ! The red fox at my feet ? 
You first, and failing from a race ? 
What ! You have brought me berries red ? 
What ! You have brought your bride a 

wreath ? 
You sly red fox with wrinkled face — 
That blade has blood between your teeth ! 

" Lie still ! lie still ! till I lean o'er 
And clutch your red blade to the shore. 
Ha ! ha ! Take that ! and that ! and that ! 
Ha ! ha ! So through your coward throat 
The full day shines ! Two fox-tails float 
And drift and drive adown the stream. 

' ' But what is this ? What snowy crest 
Climbs out the willows of the west, 
All weary, wounded, bent, and slow, 
And dripping from his streaming hair ? 
It is ! it is my Idaho ! 

" The gray hawks pass, O love ! and doves 
O'er yonder lodge shall coo their loves. 
My love shall heal your wounded breast, 
And in yon tall lodge two shall rest." 

Joaquin Miller. 



BILL MASON'S BRIDE. 

An incident in pioneer life. Bret Harte the author of this 
poem, more than any other writer has interpreted the eaily life 
of the far West and embalmed the language and customs of the 
mining camp in literature. 

alf an hour till train time, sir, 
An' a fearful dark time, too ; 

Take a look at the switch lights, 
Fetch in a stick when you're through, 



H 



" On time ?" well, yes, I guess so — 
Left the last station all right — 

She'll come round the curve a fiyin'; 
Bill Mason comes up to-night. 

You know Bill ? No ! He's engineer, 

Been on the road all his life — 
I'll never forget the morning 

He married his chuck of a wife. 
'Twas the summer the mill hands struck — 

Just off work, every one ; 
They kicked up a row in the village 

And killed old Donevan's son. 

Bill hadn't been married mor'n an hour, 

Up comes the message from Kress, 
Orderin' Bill to go up there, 

And bring down the night express. 
He left his gal in a hurry, 

And went up on number one, 
Thinking of nothing but Mary, 

And the train he had to run. 

And Mary sat down by the window 
To wait for the night express ; 

And, sir, if she hadn't a' done so, 
She'd been a widow, I guess. 

For it must a' been nigh midnight 

When the mill hands left the Ridge — 
They come down — the drunken devils ! 

Tore up a rail from the bridge. 
But Mary heard 'em a workin' 

And guessed there was something wrong 
And in less than fifteen minutes, 

Bill's train it would be along. 

She couldn't come here to tell us, 

A mile — it wouldn't a' done — 
So she jest grabbed up a lantern, 

And made for the bridge alone. 
Then down came the night express, sir, 

And Bill was makin' her climb ! 
But Mary held the lantern, 

A-swingin' it all the time. 

Well ! by Jove ! Bill saw the signal, 

And he stopped the night express, 
And he found his Mary cryin', 

On the track, in her weddin' dress ; 
Cryin' and laughin' for joy, sir, 

An' holdin' on to the light — 
Hello ! here's the train — good-bye, sir, 

Bill Mason's on time to-night. 

3r3T R4RTE. 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 



165 






LITTLE BREECHES. 

This famous poem was a great surprise to its author. Mr 
Hay deprecated the slang-poems of Bret Harte and wrote this in 
imitation of the latter's style with a hope of causing a laugh at the 
California poet, and reversing the public favor for his work. But 
instead of turning the literary appetite against Harte's produc- 
tions, Hay was himself made famous and installed in popular 
esteem as a second Bret Harte. 

I don't go much on religion, 
I never ain't had no show ; 
But I've got a middlin' tight grip, sir, 
On the handful o' things I know. 
I don't pan out on the prophets 

And free-will, and that sort of thing — 
But I b'lieve in God and the angels, 
Ever since one night last spring. 

I come into town with some turnips, 

And my little Gabe come along — 
No four-year-old in the county 

Could beat him for pretty and strong, 
Peart and chipper and sassy, 

Always ready to swear and fight — 
And I'd learnt him to chaw terbacker 

Jest to keep his milk-teeth white. 

The snow come down like a blanket 

As I passed by Taggart's store ; 
I went in for a jug of molasses 

And left the team at the door. 
They scared at something and started — 

I heard one little squall 
And hell-to-split over the prairie 

Went team, Little Breeches and all. 

Hell-to-split over the prairie ; 

I was almost froze with skeer ; 
But we rousted up some torches, 

And searched for 'em far and near. 
At last we struck hosses and wagon, 

Snowed under a soft white mound, 
Upsot — dead beat — but of little Gabe 

No hide nor hair was found. 

And here all hope soured on me, 

Of my fellow-critters' aid, 
I jest flopped down on my marrow bones, 

Crotch deep in the snow, and prayed. 

By this, the torches was played out, 

And me and Isrul Parr 
Went off for some wood to a sheepfold 

That he said was somewhar thar. 

We found it at last, and a little shed 
Where they shut up the lambs at night, 



We looked in and seen them huddled thar, 
So warm and sleepy and white ; 

And thar sot Little Breeches and chirped, 
As peart as ever you see, 

" I want a chaw of terbacker, 

An' that's what's the matter of me." 

How did he get thar ? Angels ! 

He could never have walked in that storm 
They jest scooped down and toted him 

To whar it was safe and warm. 
And I think that saving a little child, 

An' fotching him to his own, 
Is a derned sight better business 

Than loafing around the Throne. 

John Hay. 



DANIEL PERITON'S RIDE. 

On the 31st day of May, I889, one of the greatest disasters 
which ever happened in America was caused by the breaking 
of a dam in the Allegheny mountains, throwing the waters of a large 
lake into the Conemaugh River causing a wall of water to rush 
down the valley sweeping everything in its course. The city of 
Johnstown, Pa., was literally washed away and a thousand of 
people drowned. The following poem describes the ride of a 
daring horseman to warn the fated city of its coming doom, 

Alt* day long the river flowed, 
Down by the winding mountain road, 
Leaping and roaring in angry mood, 
At stubborn rocks in its way that stood ; 
Sullen the gleam of its rippled crest, 
Dark was the foam on its yellow breast ; 
The dripping bank on either side 
But half- imprisoned the turgid tide. 
By farm and village it quickly sped, — 
The weeping skies bent low overhead, — 
Foaming and rushing and tumbling down 
Into the streets of pent Johnstown, 
Down through the valley of Conemaugh, 
Down from the dam of shale and straw, 
To the granite bridge, where its waters 

pour, 
Through the arches wide, with a dismal 

roar. 

All day long the pitiful tide, 
Babbled of death on the mountain side ; 
And all day long with jest and sigh, 
They who were doomed that day to die 
Turned deafened ears to the warning roar 
They had heard so oft and despised before. 

Yet women trembled — the mother's eyes 
Turned oft to the lowering, woeful skies — 
And shuddered to think what might befall 



i66 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 



Should the flood burst over the earthen 

wall. 
So all day long they went up and down, 
Heedless of peril in doomed Johnstown. 

And all day long in the chilly gloom 

Of a thrifty merchant's counting room, 

O'er the ledger bent with anxious care 

Old Periton's only son and heir. 

A commonplace, plodding, industrious 

youth, 
Counting debit and credit the highest 

truth, 
And profit and loss a more honored game 
Than searching for laurels or fighting for 

fame. 
He saw the dark tide as it swept by the 

door, 
But heeded it not till his task was o'er ; 
Then saddled his horse, — a black-pointed 

bay, 
High-stepping, high-blooded, grandson of 

Dismay ; 
Raw-boned and deep-chested, his eyes full 

of fire ; 
The temper of Satan — Magog was his sire ; 
Arched fetlocks, strong quarters, low knees, 
And lean, bony head — his dam gave him 

these ; 
The foal of a racer transformed to a cod 
For the son of the merchant when out of a 

job. 
" Now I'll see," said Dan Peri ton, mount- 
ing the bay, 
' ' What danger there is of the dam giving 

way!" 

A marvelous sight young Periton saw 

When he rode up the valley of Conemaugh. 

Seventy feet the water fell 

With a roar like angry ocean 's swell ! 

Seventy feet from the crumbling crest 

To the rock on which the foundations rest ! 

Seventy feet fell the ceasless flow 

Into the boiling gulf below ! 

Dan Periton's cheek grew pale with fear, 
As the echoes fell on his startled ear, 
And he thought of the weight of the pent- 
up tide, 
That hung on the rifted mountain-side, 
Held by that heap of stone and straw 
O'er the swarming valley of Conemaugh ! 
The raw-boned bay with quivering ears 



Displayed a brute's instinctive fears, 
Snorted and pawed with flashing eye, 
Seized on the curb and turned to fly ! 

Dan Periton tightened his grip on the rein, 
Sat close to the saddle, glanced backward 

again, 
Touched the bay with the spur, then gave 

him his head, 
And down the steep valley they clattering 

sped. 
Then the horse showed his breeding — the 

close gripping knees 
Felt the strong shoulders working with un- 
flagging ease 
As mile after mile, 'neath the high-blooded 

bay, 
The steep mountain turnpike flew backward 

away, 
While with outstretched neck he went gal- 
loping down 
With the message of warning to perilled 

Johnstown, 
Past farmhouse and village, while shrilly 

outrang, 
O'er the river's deep roar and the hoofs 

iron clang, 
His gallant young rider's premonitant 

shout, 
' ' Fly ! Fly to the hills ! The waters are 

out! " 
Past Mineral Point there came such a roar 
As never had shaken those mountains 

before ! 
Dan urged the good horse then with word 

and caress : t 
'T would be his last race, what mattered 

distress ? 
A mile farther on and behind him he spied 
The wreck-laden crest of the death-dealing 

tide! 
Then he plied whip and spur and redoubled 

the shout, 
' ' To the hills ! To the hills ! The waters 

are out ! " 
Thus horseman and flood-tide came racing it 

down 
The cinder-paved streets of doomed Johns- 
town ! 

Daniel Periton knew that his doom was 

nigh, 
Yet never once faltered his clarion cry ; 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 



167 



The blood ran off from his good steed's 

side ; 
Over him hung the white crest of the tide ; 
His hair felt the touch of the eygre's 

breath ; 
The spray on his cheek was the cold kiss of 

death ; 
Beneath him the horse 'gan to tremble and 

droop — 
He saw the pale rider who sat on the croup ! 
But clear over all rang his last warning 

shout, 
"To the hills! To the hills! For the 

waters are out ! ' ' 
Then the tide reared its head and leaped 

vengefully down 
On the horse and his rider in fated Johns- 
town ! 

That horse was a hero, so poets still say, 

That brought the good news of the treaty to 
Aix ; 

And the steed is immortal, which carried 
Revere 

Through the echoing night with his mes- 
sage of fear ; 

And the one that bore Sheridan into the 
fray, 

From Winchester town, "twenty miles 
away ; ' ' 

But none of these merits a nobler lay 

Than young Daniel Periton's raw-boned 
bay 

That raced down the valley of Conemaugh, 

With the tide that rushed through the dam 
of straw, 

Roaring and rushing and tearing down 

On the fated thousands in doomed Johns- 
town ! 

In the very track of the eygre's swoop, 

With Dan in the saddle and Death on the 
croup, 

The foam of his nostrils flew back on the 
wind, 

And mixed with the foam of the billow 
behind. 

A terrible vision the morrow saw 
In the desolate valley of Conemaugh ! 
The river had shrunk to its narrow bed, 
But its way was choked with heaped-up 

dead. 
'Gainst the granite bridge with its arches 

four 



Lay the wreck of a city that delves no 

more ; 
And under it all, so the searchers say, 
Stood the sprawling limbs of the gallant 

bay, 
Stiff- cased in the drift of the Conemaugh. 
A goodlier statue man never saw, — 
Dan's foot on the stirrup his hand on the 

rein ! 
So they shall live in white marble again ; 
And ages shall tell, as they gaze on the 

group, 
Of the race that he ran while Death sat on 

the croup. 

Albion W. Tourgkk. 



AUNT POLLY GREEN. 

By permission of the Author. 

AT last the cottage was rented 
That vacant had stood so long, 
And the silent gloom of its chambers 
Gave way to mirth and song, 
Ever since the Sheriff sold it, 
And poor Dobson moved away, 
Not a sould had crossed the threshold 
Till the strangers came in May ; 
Then the mould on the steps of marble 
Was scoured and well rinsed off, 
And the packed dead leaves of autumn 
Were thrown from the dry pump trough ; 
And the windows were washed and pol- 
ished, 
And the paints and floors were scrubbed, 
While the knobs and the hearthstone brasses 
Were cleaned and brightly rubbed. 

Now right across the turnpike 
Lived old Aunt Polly Green, 
And through the window lattice 
The cottage could be seen. 
There wasn't a bed or mattress, 
There wasn't a thing untied, 
Not a box, a trunk, or a bundle, 
But what Aunt Polly spied. 
Such high-toned, stylish neighbors 
The village had never known ; 
And the family had no children — 
The folks were all full-grown ; 
That is, there were two 3^oung ladies, 
The husband and his wife, 
"And she," said old Aunt Polly, 
"Hain't seen a bit of life," 



i68 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 



And so Aunt Polly watched them, 

Oft heard the husband say, 

" Good-bye, my love," when leaving 

His wife but for the day ; 

And when he came at sunset 

She saw them eager run, 

Striving the wife and daughters 

To be the favored one ; 

And as Aunt Polly, peeping, 

Beheld his warm embrace, 

And noted well the love- light 

That lit the mother's face, 

She shook her head and muttered, 

" Them two hain't long been wed, 

A pity for his first wife, 

Who's sleepin' cold and dead. 

" The poor thing died heart-broken. 

Neglected by that brute, 

Who, soon as she was buried, 

Began his new love- suit, 

I know it," said Aunt Polly, 

' ' I see the hull thing through ; 

How kin he so forget her, 

Who always loved him true ? ' ' 

And tears of woman's pity 

Streamed down Aunt Polly's face, 

As in her mind she pictured 

The dead wife's resting-place. 

" To think," sobbed good Aunt Polly, 

" How the daughters, too, behave, 

When their poor and sainted mother 

Fills a lone, forgotten grave." 

One day when old Aunt Polly 

Sat knitting, almost asleep, 

When the shadows under the woodbine 

Eastward began to creep, 

A rosy-cheeked, brown-eyed maiden 

Walked up to the kitchen door, 

Where never a soul from the cottage 

Had dared to walk before : 

'Tis true that she walked on tip -toe, 

And cautiously peered around ; 

But she smiled and courtesied sweetly 

When the one she sought was found : 

" I rapped on the front door knocker, 

And wondered where you could be, 

So I hope you will pardon my boldness 

In walking around to see." 

" Boldness," said Polly, rising, 
And fixing her glasses straight, 
ft Boldness ain't nothin' now '-days, 



To some, at any rate. 

Sit down in that chair and tell me 

Who 'twas that sent you here ; 

And tell me how long ago, Miss, 

You lost your mother dear." 

The girl stood still, astonished, 

She knew not what to say, 

She wished herself in the cottage 

That stood across the way. 

" Now don't stand there a sulkin', 

Have a little Christian shame, 

Even if she is a bold one 

That bears your father's name." 

" Madam, or Miss," said the maiden, 

" There's surely a great mistake, 

Or else I must be dreaming — " 

" No you hain't, you're wide awake; 

I blame your bold stepmother 

For learnin' you this deceit ; 

Now answer me true the question 

Which again I must repeat — 

When did you lose your mother, 

And of what did the poor child die, 

And wasn't her pale face pinched like, 

And didn't she often sigh ? 

Horrors ! jist look at the heathen, 

A laughin' right in my face, 

When speakin' about her mother, 

In her last lone res tin' place.' 

' ' You say you were sent to invite me 

To the cottage over the way, 

That to-night's the celebration 

Of your mother's marriage day, 

And this is the silver weddin' 

Of that young and frisky thing, 

That for five and twenty summers 

She's wore her plain gold ring ? 

Well, looks they are deceivin', 

Why her hair's not one mite gray, 

And her cheek is like a lily 

Gathered for Easter day. 

An' will I come ? Yes, dearie ; 

But let me your pardon crave, 

For I've been like an old fool weepin', 

A-mournin' an empty grave." 

Geo. M. Vickers. 



A 



POMPEII. 

nd lo, a voice from Italy ! It comes like 
the stirring of the breeze from the 
mountains ! It floats in majesty like 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 



169 



the echo of the thunder ! It breathes 
solemnity like a sound from the tombs ! 
L,et the nations hearken ; for the slumber of 
ages is broken, and the buried voice of anti- 
quity speaks again from the gray ruins of 
Pompeii. 

Roll back the tide of eighteen hundred 
years. At the foot of the vine-clad Vesu- 
vius stands a royal city ; the stately Roman 
walks its lordly streets, or banquets in the 
palaces of its splendor. The bustle of busied 
thousands is there ; you may hear it along 
thronged quays ; it raises from the amphi- 
theatre and the forum. It is the home of 
luxury, of gayety and of joy. There toged 
royalty drowns itself in dissipation ; the 
lion roars over the martyred Christian ; and 
the bleeding gladiator dies at the beck of 
applauding spectators. It is a careless, a 
dreaming, a devoted city. 

There is a blackness in the horizon, and 
the earthquake is rioting in the bowels of 
the mountain ! Hark ! a roar, a crash ! and 
the very foundations of the eternal hills are 
belched forth in a sea of fire ! Woe for that 
fated city ! The torrent comes surging like 
the mad ocean ; it boils above wall and 
tower, palace and fountain, and Pompeii is 
a city of tombs ! 

Ages roll on ; silence, darkness, and deso- 
lation are in the halls of buried grandeur. 
The forum is voiceless ; and the pompous 
mansions are tenanted by skeletons ! Lo ! 
other generations live above the dust of 
long lost glory ; and the slumber of the 
dreamless city is forgotten. 

Pompeii beholds a resurrection ! As sum- 
moned by the blast of the first trumpet, she 
hath shaken from her beauty the ashes of 
centuries, and once more looks forth upon 
the world, sullied and sombre, but interest- 
ing still. Again upon her arches, her 
courts, and her colonnades the sun lingers 
in splendor, but not as erst, when the 
reflected lustre from her marbles dazzled 
like the glory of his own true beam. 

There, in their gloomy boldness, stand her 
palaces, but the song of carousal is hushed 
forever. You may behold the places of her 
fountains, but you will hear no murmur ; 
they are as the water-courses of the desert. 
There, too, are her gardens ; but the bar- 
renness of long antiquity is theirs. You 



may stand in her amphitheater, and you 
shall read utter desolation on its bare and 
dilapidated walls. 

Pompeii ! moldering relic of a former 
world ! Strange redemption from the sepul- 
cher ! How vivid are the classic memories 
that cluster around thee ! Thy loneliness 
is rife with tongues ; for the shadows of the 
mighty are thy sojourners ! Man walks thy 
desolated and forsaken streets, and is lost in 
his dreams of other days. 

He converses with the genius of the past, 
and the Roman stands as freshly recalled as 
before the billow of lava had stiffened above 
him. A Pliny, a Sallust, a Trajan, are in 
his musing, and he visits their very homes. 
Venerable and eternal city ! The storied 
urn to a nation's memory ! A disentombed 
and risen witness for the dead ! Every stone 
of thee is consecrated and immortal. Rome 
was ; Thebes was ; Sparta was ; thou wast, 
and art still. No Goth or Vandal thun- 
dered at thy gates, or reveled in thy spoil. 

Man marred not thy magnificence. Thou 
wast scathed by the finger of Him who 
alone knew the depth of thy violence and 
crime. Babylon of Italy ! Thy doom was 
not revealed to thee. No prophet was there, 
when thy towers were tottering and the 
ashy darkness obscured thy horizon, to con- 
strue the warning. The wrath of God was 
upon thee heavily ; in the volcano was the 
"hiding of His power;" and, like thine 
ancient sisters of the plain, thy judgment was 
sealed in fire ! 

THE FIRE=FIEND, 

This dramatic selection affords rare opportunity for manifest- 
ing changing and excited emotion. In the description of the fire 
the delivery should be rapid. 

Hark! hark! o'er the city, alarm bells 
ring out, 

Cling, clang ! " fire, fire ! " each tone 

seems to shout. 
" Come on," cries a voice, " there is work 

to be done," 
So forth for our steamer and horse-cart we 

run ! 
Here they are ! Roll them out ! now quick, 

let us fly ! 
' ' Clear the track ! turn out ! fire ! fire ! " is 

our cry. 
1 ' Ha ! ha ! here we are ! Yes, the Fire- Fiend 

is out ! 



!7o 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 



Just see the smoke roll, while the flames leap 

about ; 
Unroll the hose, quick ; pull to the tank, 

boys ; 
Make fast the steamer now ! listen to its 

noise ! 
There go the water -jets high in the air ' 



" Spare nothing, speed onward ! In this I 
delight ! 

Two victims are mine ! I am king here to- 
night." 

Not so ! Oh, not so ! for 'mid joy-speaking 
cheers, 
Dash them on ! higher !~ higher ! flames A fireman with child on the ladder appears; 
everywhere." Blackened, yet safe, he descends to the 

ground, 
But stay ! a wild cry rises loud o'er the din, Gives the babe to its mother, then looks 
A woman is shrieking, "my child sleeps calmly round, 

within, " Thank God, that he gave me the strength 

Help ! help ! can ye stand, oh men, here and this to do ! " 

see "We will," cried a voice, "but we also 

A little child die, yet do nothing for me ? thank you ! " 

She burns ! she is lost !" shrieks the mother, The Fire-Fiend rushed by on his merciless 

half wild, path ; 

' ' Are ye men ? have ye hearts ? then help At losing his victims he seemed full of 



my poor child. 

11 Be calm," cried a fireman, young, sturdy 

and brave, 
' ' I die in yon flames , or your child I will save ! 
Ho ! ladders, quick ! quick ! hoist them up 

to the wall, — 
Now, steady ! God help me ! Oh, what if I 

fall? " 
One glance up to heaven, one short prayer 

he spoke, 
Sprang up, and was hidden by darkness and 

smoke. 



wrath ; 

He sputtered and hissed his unceasing re- 
proof, 

Until with a crash, inward tumbled the roof. 

Then, 'mid water and work, 'mid laughter 
and shout, 

The Fiend slunk away, and the fire was out. 

JKSSIE GlvKNN. 



CHANGING COLOR. 

Suitable to home, Sunday school or church entertainment. 

OH, every one was sorry for Ned ! 
"It's a perfect shame," so the people 
said ; 
"And who was Ned?" Why, don't you 
know ? 



On her knees sank the mother, lips moving 

in prayer, 
While fear sent a thrill through the crowd 

gathered there. 

Breathless silence prevailed, none speaking Ned was the deacon's daughter's beau, — 

a word, Honest and manly, hard to beat, 

While puffs from the engine alone could be Five foot ten in his stocking feet. 

heard . 

All eyes remained fixed on the window Bess was tne sweetest girl in the place, 

above , With a soul as fair as her winsome face ; 

Where last stood a hero whom angels might The deacon's daughter, kind and gay, 

love. And used to having her own sweet way. 

Now, two good people may agree, — 

" Will he ever come back ?" No sound in The deacon, Bess, and Ned make three. 

reply 

Save the Fire-Fiend's laugh, as he leaps up so Old Deacon Green was a "moneyed man; 

high , His motto was : ' ' Get and keep if you can. 

Catching windows and doors, woodwork, " Honest in all his dealings ? " Yes, 

lintel and all, Honest as you, or Ned, or Bess ; 

While "burn with all speed," seems his But charity had left his creed, 

conquering call, And he was stingy in thought and deed. 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 



171 



1 ' I tell you no man borrows from me ; 

If he wants an3^ help let him find it, ' ' said he ; 

" And Bess, my girl, hear what I say, 

You send that shiftless Ned away ! 

I have no use for the lazy dunce, 

I heard that he borrowed a dollar once. 

''Now when / borrow — you hear me, 

Bess ?— 
Then you may purchase your wedding- 
dress. 
Until that time Ned Brown, you see, 
Must be a minus quantity." 
And Bessie murmured soft and low : 
"That's something Ned would like to 
know." 

That night the moon and the silent stars 
Saw two young heads near the meadow 

bars, 
And heard Bess say : " I think to-morrow 
Some one will really have to borrow ! ' ' 
Two hearts were happier, I know, 
Because the new moon told me so. 

Next morn, Bess seized her shopping-bag, 
Harnessed the deacon's corpulent nag, 
And drove to town ; I wonder why 
She chose that early hour to buy ! 

A small boy with a freckled face 
Was standing near the market- place ; 
He waved his cap when he saw sweet Bess, 
As fair as a flower, in her muslin dress. 
" Good-morning, Cousin Bob," said she ; 
" You're just the boy I want to see ! 

" I'll give all you ask, and more, 
If you will ride to father's door, 
And say to him, ' Bess is in town, 
Going to marry that Ned Brown.' 
After you tell him, drive away, 
No matter what he has to say." 

Imagine the deacon, if you can ! 
Poor Bob ne'er saw an uglier man 
Than Deacon Green, that summer day 
He watched his old nag trot, away ; 
The words he used are hard to spell, 
And really wouldn't do to tell. 

" There is Bess in Blickingham town, 
Ready to marry that scamp, Brown ; 
I can reach her as best I may — 
Even my old nag's gone to-day ! 



The parson would lend me — I must borrow, 
For Bess may not be there to-morrow. ' ' 

The parson lent him his dapple gray, 
And he made for the town without delay. 
There stood Bess in the market-place, 
And near her the determined face 
Of our friend Brown was plainly seen — 
A sight to madden Deacon Green . 

The young folks entered the old town-hall, 

The scene of many a county ball, 

And Bessie's father walked in, too ; 

I wonder what he meant to do ? 

This much I know — the words then said 

Came chiefly from the lips of Ned. 

" Deacon Green, did you borrow the gray 
That brought you to Blickingham town 

to-day ? 
You did ? Then Bess shall be my wife, 
And here's an end to all our strife ! " 
Said Bess : " I knew dear father meant 
To give his full and free consent." 

" But," gasped the deacon, " I never said 
My daughter could marry you, Ned ! " 
" I heard you say," cried blue-eyed Bess, 
' ' That I might purchase my wedding-dress 
When you borrowed from any one. 
And now, you see, the deed is done ! 

" It can't be helped ; and, father dear, 
Forgive us, won't you, now and here ? " 
The deacon frowned, but chuckled too : 
" That's all you've left for me to do ! 
You're full of business, and I guess 
Your head is pretty level, Bess; 
You took your father's nag away, 
And made him toe the mark to-day ; 
And though I'm Green, ere we leave town, 
My only daughter shall be Brown ! ' ' 

Hattik G. CanfieIvD. 



LITTLE HEG AND I. 

A sailor's story. Imitate the sailor style of speech and 
manner. 

You asked me, mates, to spin a yarn, 
before we go below ; 
Well, as the night is calm and fair, 
and no chance for a blow, 
I'll give one, — a story true as ever yet was 

told— 
For, mates, I wouldn't lie about the dead ; 
no, not for gold. 



172 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 



The story's of a maid and lad, who loved 

in days gone by : 
The maiden was Meg Anderson, the lad, 

messmates, was I. 

A neater, trimmer craft than Meg was very 

hard to find ; 
Why, she could climb a hill and make five 

knots agin the wind ; 
And as for larnin', hulks and spars ! I've 

often heard it said 
That she could give the scholars points and 

then come out ahead. 
The old school-master used to say, and, 

mates, it made me cry, 
That the smartest there was little Meg ; the 

greatest dunce was I. 

But what cared I for larnin' then, while 

she was by my side ; 
For, though a lad, I loved her, mates, and 

for her would have died ; 
And she loved me, the little lass, and often 

have I smiled 
When she said, "I'll be your little wife," 

'twas the prattle of a child. 
For there lay a gulf between us, mates, 

with the waters running high ; 
On one side stood Meg Anderson, on the 

other side stood I. 

Meg's fortune was twelve ships at sea and 

houses on the land ; 
While mine — why, mates, you might have 

held my fortune in your hand. 
Her father owned a vast domain for miles 

along the shore ; 
My father owned a fishing-smack, a hut, 

and nothing more ; 
I knew that Meg I ne'er could win, no 

matter how I'd try, 
For on a couch of down lay she, on a bed 

of straw lay I. 

I never thought of leaving Meg, or Meg of 

leaving me, 
For we were young, and never dreamed 

that I should go to sea, 
Till one bright morning father said : 

''There's a whale-ship in the bay: 
I want you, Bill, to make a cruise — you go 

aboard to-day." 
Well, mates, in two weeks from that time I 

bade them all good-bye, 



While on the dock stood little Meg, and on 
the deck stood I. 

I saw her oft before we sailed, whene'er I 

came on shore, 
And she would say: <l Bill, when you're 

gone, I'll love you more and more ; 
And I promise to be true to you through 

all the coming years." 
But while she spoke her bright blue eyes 

were filled with pearly tears. 
Then, as I whispered words of hope and 

kissed her eyelids dry, 
Her last words were: " God speed you, 

Bill !" so parted Meg and I. 

Well, mates, we cruised for four long years, 

till at last, one summer's day, 
Our good ship, the " Minerva," cast anchor 

in the bay 
Oh, how my heart beat high with hope, as 

I saw her home once more, 
And on the pier stood hundreds, to welcome 

us ashore ; 
But my heart sank down within me as I 

gazed with anxious eye — 
No little Meg stood on the dock, as on 

the deck stood I. 

Why, mates, it nearly broke my heart when 
I went ashore that day, 

For they told me little Meg had wed, while 
I was far away. 

They told me, too, they forced her to't — 
and wrecked her fair young life — 

Just think, messmates, a child in years, to 
be an old man's wife. 

But her father said it must be so, and what 
could she reply ? 

For she was only just sixteen — just twenty- 
one was I. 

Well, mates, a few short years from then — 

perhaps it may be four — 
One blustering night Jack Glinn and I were 

rowing to the shore, 
When right ahead we saw a sight that made 

us hold our breath — 
There floating in the pale moonlight was a 

woman cold in death. 
I raised her up : oh, God, messmates, that 

I had passed her by ! 
For in the bay lay little Meg, and over her 

stood I. C. T. Murphy. 



Part V 

PATHETIC READINGS 



A I ^HERK is a charm in pathos, as there is a solace in tears. Sometimes "it is better to 
go to the house of mourning than to the house of feasting. ' ' Poe declared that ' ' all 
true pleasure must have in it the vein of sadness." Certain it is, that love and the holiest 
relations of life derive much of their sweetness from the minor chords that drive fond 
hearts closer together by the sad notes of some sympathetic refrain. 

The selections in this department are as varied in character, that they maj touch the 
largest possible number of conditions. 



A CHAPTER FROM THE ANNALS OF THE 
POOR. 

Should be rendered in a sorrowful tone, with great surprise 
and a show of joy at the middle of the fourth stanza and des- 
pairingly . i the close of the piece. 



w 



hist, sir ! Would you plaze to spake 

aisy 

And sit down there by the dure ? 
She sleeps, sir, so light and so restless, 

She hears every step on the flure, 
What ails her ? God knows ! She's been 
weakly 
For months, and the heat dhrives her 
wild ; 
The summer has wasted and worn her 
Till she's only the ghost of a child. 

All I have ? Yes, she is, and God help me! 

I'd three little darlings beside, 
As purty as iver ye see, sir, 

But won by won dhrooped like and died. 
What was it that took them, ye 're asking ? 

Why poverty, sure, and no doubt 
They perished for food and fresh air, sir, 

Like flowers dhried up in a drought. 

It was dreadful to lose them ? Ah, was it ! 
It seemed like my heart-strings would 
break. 
But there's days when wid want and wid 
sorrow 
I'm thankful they're gone — for their 
sake ! 



Their father ? Well, sir, saints forgive me ! 

It's a foul tongue that lowers its own. 
But what wid the sthrife and the liquor, 

I'd better be sthrugglin alone ! 

Do I want to kape this wan ? The darlint, 

The last and dearest of all ! 
Shure you're niver a father yourself , sir, 

Or you wouldn't be askin' at all ! 
What is that ? Milk and food for the baby ! 

A docther and medicine free ! 
You're huntin' out all the sick children, 

An' poor toilin' mothers, like me ? 

God bless you! an' thim that have sent 
you ! 

A new life you've given me, so, 
Shure, sir, won't you look in the cradle 

At the colleen you've saved, 'fore you go? 
O mother o 'mercies ! have pity ! 

O darlint, why couldn't you wait ! 
Dead ! dead ! an' the help in the dureway ! 

Too late ! O, my baby ! Too late ! 



THE AGED PRISONER. 

Pathetic. 
i tlVTiGH on to twenty years 

-L\ Have I walked up and down this 
dingy cell ! 
I have not seen a bird in all that time 
Nor the sweet eyes of childhood, nor the 
flowers 



i73 



174 



PATHETIC READINGS 



That grow for innocent men, — not for the 
curst, 

Dear God ! for twenty years. 

' ' With every gray-white rock 
I am acquainted ; every seam and crack, 
Each chance and change of color ; every 

stone 
Of this cold floor, where I by walking much 
Have worn unsightly smoothness, that its 
rough 

Old granite walls resent. 

" My little blue-eyed babe, 
That I left singing by my cottage door, 
Has grown a woman — is perchance a wife. 
To her the name of ' father ' is a dream, 
Though in her arms a nestling babe may 
rest, 

And on her heart lie soft. 

"Oh, this bitter food 
That I must live on ! this poisoned thought 
That judges all my kind, because by men 
I have been stripped of all that life holds 

dear — 
Wife, honor, reputation, tender child — 

For one brief moment's madness. 

' ' If they had killed me then, 
By rope, or rack, or any civil mode 
Of desperate, cruel torture, — so the deed 
Were consummated for the general good — 
But to entomb me in these walls of stone 

For twenty frightful years ! 

' ' Plucked at my hair — 
Bleached of all color, pale and thin and 

dead — 
My beard that to such sorry length has 

grown ; 
And could you see my heart, 'tis gray as 

these — 
All like a stony archway, under which 
Pass funerals of dead hopes. 

' ' To-morrow I go out ! 
Where shall I go ? what friend have I to 

meet? 
Whose glance will kindle at my altered 

voice ? 
The very dog I rescued from his kind 
Would have forgotten me, if he had lived. 
I have no home — no hope ! ' ' 



An old man, bent and gray, 
Paused at the threshold of a cottage door. 
A child gazed up at him with startled eyes. 
He stretched his wasted hands — then drew 

them back 
With bitter groan : " So like my little one 

Twenty years ago ! ' ' 

A comely, tender face 
Looked from the casement ; pitying all 

God's poor, 
" Come in, old man ! " she said, with gentle 

smile, 
And then from out the fullness of her 

heart, 
She called him " Father," thinking of his 

age; 

But he, with one wild cry, 

Fell prostrate at her feet. 
" O child ! " he sobbed, " now I can die. 

When last 
You called me father — was it yesterday ? 
No ! no ! your mother lived, — now she is 

dead ! 
And mine was living death — for twenty 
years — 

For twenty loathsome years ! ' ' 

Her words came falteringly : 
' ' Are you the man — who broke my mother's 

heart ? 
No ! no ! O father, — speak ! 
Look up — forget ! ' ' Then came a stony 

calm. 
Some hearts are broken with joy — some 
break with grief, 

The old gray man was dead. 



DEATH OF LITTLE NELL. 

Pathetic and reflective. Read in a slow and measured tone. 

SH£ was dead. No sleep so beautiful 
and calm, so free from trace of pain, 
so fair to look upon. She seemed a 
creature fresh from the hand of God, and 
waiting for the breath of life : not one who 
had lived and suffered death. Her couch 
was dressed with here and there some 
winter-berries and green leaves, gathered 
in a spot she had been used to favor. 
" When I die, put near me something that 
has loved the light, and had the sky above 
it always." These were her words. 



PATHETIC READINGS 



175 



She was dead. Dear, gentle, patient, 
noble Nell was dead. Her little bird — a 
poor, slight thing the pressure of a finger 
would have crushed — was stirring nimbly 
in its cage ; and the strong heart of its 
child-mistress was mute and motionless 
forever. Where were the traces of her 
early cares, her sufferings, and fatigues ? 
All gone. Sorrow was dead, indeed, in 
her ; but peace and perfect happiness were 
born — imaged — in her tranquil beauty and 
profound repose. 

And still her former self lay there, 
unaltered in this change. Yes. The old 
fireside had smiled upon that same sweet 
face ; it had passed, like a dream, through 
haunts of misery and care ; at the door of 
the poor schoolmaster on the summer 
evening, before the furnace-fire upon the 
cold, wet night, at the still bedside of the 
dying boy, there had been the same mild 
and lovely look. So shall we know the 
angels in their majesty, after death. 

The old man held one languid arm in his, 
and the small, tight hand folded to his 
breast for warmth. It was the hand she 
had stretched out to him with her last 
smile — the hand that had led him on 
through all their wanderings. Ever and 
anon he pressed it to his lips ; then hugged 
it to his breast again, murmuring that it 
was warmer now ; and, as he said it, he 
looked in agony to those who stood around, 
as if imploring them to help her. 

She was dead, and past all help, or need 
of help. The ancient rooms she had 
seemed to fill with life, even while her own 
was waning fast — the garden she had 
tended — the eyes she had gladdened — the 
noiseless haunts of many a thoughtless 
hour — the paths she had trodden, as it were, 
but yesterday — could know her no more. 

"It is not," said the schoolmaster, as 
he bent down to kiss her on the cheek, and 
gave his tears free vent, " it is not in this 
world that Heaven's justice ends. Think 
what earth is, compared with the world to 
which her young spirit has winged its early 
flight, and say if one deliberate wish, 
expressed in solemn tones above this bed, 
could call her back to life, which of us 
would utter it ! " 

Charles DickknSc 



" GOOD=NlGHT, PAPA." 

The) words of a blue-eyed child as she 
kissed her chubby hand and looked 
down the stairs, " Good-night, papa; 
Jessie see you in the morning." 

It came to be a settled thing, and every 
evening, as the mother slipped the white 
night-gown over the plump shoulders, the 
little one stopped on the stairs and sang out, 
"Good-night, papa," and as the father 
heard the silvery accents of the child, he 
came, and taking the cherub in his arms, 
kissed her tenderly, while the mother's eyes 
filled, and a swift prayer went up, for, strange 
to say, this man, who loved his child with 
all the warmth of his great noble nature, 
had one fault to mar his manliness. From 
his youth he loved the wine-cup. Genial 
in spirit, and with a fascination of manner 
that won him friends, he could not resist 
when surrounded by his boon companions. 
Thus his home was darkened, the heart of 
his wife bruised and bleeding, the future of 
his child shadowed. 

Three years had the winsome prattle of 
the baby crept into the avenues of the 
father's heart, keeping him closer to his 
home, but still the fatal cup was in his 
hand. Alas, for frail humanity, insensible 
to the calls of love ! With unutterable ten- 
derness God saw there was no other way ; 
this father was dear to him, the purchase of 
his Son ; he could not see him perish, and, 
calling a swift messenger, he said, " Speed 
thee to earth and bring the babe." 

" Good-night, papa," sounded from the 
stairs. What was there in the voice ? was 
it the echo of the mandate, " Bring me the 
babe " ? — a silvery, plaintive sound, a linger- 
ing music that touched the father's heart, 
as when a cloud crosses the sun. " Good- 
night, my darling ; " but his lips quivered 
and his broad brow grew pale. " Is Jessie 
sick, mother ? Her cheeks are flushed, and 
her eyes have a strange light." 

" Not sick," and the mother stooped to 
kiss the flushed brow ; ' ' she may have 
played too much. Pet is not sick ? ' ' 

' ' Jessie tired, mamma ; good-night, papa ; 
Jessie see you in the morning. ' ' 

' ' That is all, she is only tired, ' ' said the 
mother as she took the small hand. Another 



7 6 



PATHETIC READINGS 



kiss and the father turned away ; but his 
heart was not satisfied. 

Sweet lullabies were sung ; but Jessie 
was restless and could not sleep. "Tell 
me a story, mamma ; " and the mother told 
of the blessed babe that Mary cradled, fol- 
lowing along the story till the child had 
grown to walk and play. The blue, wide 
open eyes filled with a strange light, as 
though she saw and comprehended more 
than the mother knew. 

That night the father did not visit the 
saloon ; tossing on his bed, starting from a 
feverish sleep and bending over the crib, 
the long weary hours passed. Morning 
revealed the truth — Jessie was smitten with 
the fever. 

" Keep her quiet," the doctor said ; " a 
few days of good nursing, and she will be 
all right." 

Words easy said ; but the father saw a 
look on the sweet face such as he had seen 
before. He knew the message was at the 
door. 

Night came. " Jessie is sick ; can't say 
good-night, papa ; " and the little clasping 
fingers clung to the father's hand. 

"O God, spare her! I cannot, cannot 
bear it ! "was wrung from his suffering 
heart. 

Days passed ; the mother was tireless in 
her watching. With her babe cradled in 
her arms her heart was slow to take in the 
truth, doing her best to solace the father's 
heart; "A light case ! the doctor says, 
1 Pet will soon be well.' " 

Calmly as one who knows his doom, the 
father laid his hand upon the hot brow, 
looked into the eyes even then covered with 
the film of death, and with all the strength 
of his manhood cried, " Spare her, O God ! 
spare my child, and I will follow Thee." 

With a last painful effort the parched lips 
opened: "Jessie's too sick ; can'tsay good- 
night, papa — in the morning." There was 
a convulsive shudder, and the clasping fin- 
gers relaxed their hold ; the messenger had 
taken the child. 

Months have passed. Jessie's crib stands 
by the side of her father's couch ; her blue 
embroidered dress and white hat hang in 
his closet ; her boots with the print of the 
feet just as she last wore them, as sacred in 



his eyes as they are in the mother's. Not 
dead, but merely risen to a higher life ; 
while, sounding down from the upper stairs, 
" Good-night, papa, Jossie see you in the 
morning," has been the means of winning 
to a better way one who had shown himself 
deaf to every former call . 

American Messenger. 



POOR LITTLE JIM. 

Suitable for Church Entertainment. 

This selection may be made very effective by having two or 
three tableaux scenes presented in the back ground during the 
recitation (i. mother sitting by the bed of sick child ; 2. kneeling 
beside the bed in attitude of prayer and then looking at the child 
as he is supposed to speak; 3. father by bed with candle ; 4. 
mother and father kneeling by bed ) . 

THE cottage was a thatched one, the out- 
side old and mean, 

But all within that little cot was 

wondrous neat and clean. 
The night was dark and stormy, the wind 

was howling wild, 
As a patient mother sat beside the death-bed 

of her child : 
A little worn-out creature, his once bright 

eyes grown dim : 
It was a collier's wife and child, they called 

him little Jim. 

And oh ! to see the briny tears fast hurrying 
down her cheek, 

As she offered up the prayer, in thought, 
she was afraid to speak, 

Lest she might waken one she loved far bet- 
ter than her life ; 

For she had all a mother's heart, had that 
poor collier's wife. 

With hands uplifted, see, she kneels beside 
the sufferer's bed, 

And prays that He would spare her boy, 
and take herself instead. 

She gets her answer from the child : soft 

fall the words from him : 
"Mother, the angels do so smile, and beckon 

little Jim, 
I have.no pain, dear mother, now, but oh ! 

I am so dry, 
Just moisten poor Jim's lips again, and, 

mother, don't you cry, 
With gentle, trembling haste she held the 

liquid to his lip ; 







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PATHETIC READINGS 



179 



He smiled to thank her as he took each 

little, tiny sip ; 
" Tell father, when he comes from work, I 

said good-night to him, 
And, mother, now I'll go to sleep." Alas ! 

poor little Jim ! 
She knew that he was dying ; that the child 

she loved so dear 
He uttered the last words she might ever 

hope to hear : 
The cottage door is opened, the collier's 

step is heard, 
The father and the mother meet, yet neither 

speaks a word. 

He felt that all was over, he knew his child 

was dead, 
He took the candle in his hand and walked 

toward the bed ; 
His quivering lips gave token of the grief 

he'd fain conceal, 
And see, his wife has joined him — the 

stricken couple kneel : 
With hearts bowed down by sadness, they 

humbly ask of Him, 
In heaven once more to meet again their 

own poor little Jim. 



IN THE BOTTOM DRAWER. 

Suitable to be read at a family party or homecoming. 

I saw wife pull out the bottom drawer of 
the old family bureau this evening, and 
went softly out, and wandered up and 
down, until I knew that she had shut it up 
and gone to her sewing. We have some 
things laid away in that drawer which the 
gold of kings could not buy, and yet they 
are relics which grieve us until both our 
hearts are sore. I haven't dared look at 
them for a year, but I remember each 
article. 

There are two worn shoes, a little chip- 
hat with part of the brim gone, some stock- 
ings, pants, a coat, two or three spools, bits 
of broken crockery, a whip, and several 
toys. Wife — poor thing — goes to that 
drawer every day of her life, and prays 
over it, and lets her tears fall upon the 
precious articles ; but I dare not go. 

Sometimes we speak of little Jack, but 
not often. It has been a long time, but 



somehow we can't get over grieving. He 
was such a burst of sunshine into our lives 
that his going away has been like covering 
our every-day existence with a pall. Some- 
times, when we sit alone of an evening, I 
writing and she sewing, a child on the 
street will call out as our boy used to, and 
we will both start up with beating hearts 
and a wild hope, only to find the darkness 
more of a burden than ever. 

It is so still and quiet now. I look up 
at the window where his blue eyes used to 
sparkle at my coming, but he is not there. 
I listen for his pattering feet, his merry 
shout, and his ringing laugh ; but there is 
no sound. There is no one to climb over 
my knees, no one to search my pockets and 
tease for presents ; and I never find the 
chairs turned over, the broom down, or 
ropes tied to the door-knobs. 

I want some one to tease me for my 
knife ; to ride on my shoulder ; to lose my 
axe ; to follow me to the gate when I go, 
and be there to meet me when I come ; to 
call " good-night " from the little bed, now 
empty. And wife, she misses him still 
more ; there are no little feet to wash, no 
prayers to say ; no voice teasing for lumps 
of sugar, or sobbing with the pain of a hurt 
toe ; and she would give her own life, 
almost, to awake at midnight, and look 
across to the crib and see our boy there as 
he used to be. 

So we preserve our relics ; and when we 
are dead we hope that strangers will handle 
them tenderly, even if they shed no tears 
over them. 

POOR LITTLE JOE. 

Let the speaker study carefully the changing moods of the 
character and act them naturally. 

Prop yer eyes wide open Joey, 
Fur I've brought you sumpin' great. 
Apples ? No, a heap sight better ! 
Don't you take no int'rest ? Wait ! 
Flowers, Joe — I know'd you'd like 'em 
Ain't them scrumptious ? Ain't them 
high? 
Tears, my boy ? Wot's them fur, Joey ? 
There — poor little Joe ! — don't cry I 

I was skippin' past a winder, 
Where a bang-up lady sot, 



i8o 



PATHETIC READINGS 



All amongst a lot of bushes — 
Each oneclimbin' from a pot ; 
Every bush had flowers on it — 

Pretty \ Mebbe not ! Oh, no ! 
Wish you could a seen 'em growin', 

It wassich a stunnin' show. 

Well, I thought of you, poor feller, 

Lyin' here so sick and weak, 
Never knowin' any comfort, 

And I puts on lots o' cheek. 
" Missus," says I, "if you please, mum, 

Could I ax j^ou for a rose ? 
For my little brother, missus — 

Never seed one, I suppose." 

Then I told her all about you — 

How I bringed you up — poor Joe ! 
(L,ackin' women folks to do it.) 

Sich a imp you was, you know — 
Till yer got that awful tumble, 

Jist as I had broke yer in 
(Hard work, too,) to earn yer livin' 

Blackin' boots for honest tin. 

How that tumble crippled of you, 
So's you couldn't hyper much — 

Joe, it hurted when I seen you 

Fur the first time with yer crutch. 

" But," I says, " he's laid up now, mum, 

'Pears to weaken every day ; " 

Joe, she up and went to cuttin' — 
That's the how of this bokay. 

Say ! It seems to me, ole feller, 

You is quite yerself to night ; 
Kind o' chirk — it's been a fortnit 

Sence yer eyes has been so bright. 
Better f Well, I'm glad to hear it ! 

Yes, they're mighty pretty, Joe. 
Smellin* of 'em's made you happy f 

Well, I thought it would, you know ! 

Never see the country, did you ? 

Flowers growin' everywhere ! 
Sometime when you're better, Joey, 

Mebbe I kin take you there, 
Flowers in heaven f 'M — I s'pose so ; 

Dunno much about it, though ; 
Ain't as fly as wot I might be 

On them topics, little Joe. 

But I've heard it hinted somewhere s 

That in heaven's golden gates 
Things is everlastin' cheerful — 



B'lieve that's wot the Bible states, 
likewise there folks don't git hungry ; 

So good people, when they dies, 
Finds themselves well fixed forever — 

Joe, my boy, wot ails yer eyes ? 

Thought they looked a little sing'ler. 

Oh, no ! Don't you have no fear ; 
Heaven was made fur such as you is — 

Joe, wot makes you look so queer ? 
Here — wake up ! Oh , don ' t look that way ! 

Joe ! My boy ! Hold up yer head ! 
Here's yer flowers — you dropped 'em, Joey ! 

Oh, my God, can Joe be dead? 

PEivKG Arkwright. 



OUR FOLKS. 



i i TTi ! Harry Holly ! Halt,— and tell 
JUL A fellow just a thing or two ; 

You've had a furlough, been to see 

How all the folks in Jersey do. 
It's months ago since I was there, — 

I, and a bullet from Fair Oaks. 
When you were home, — old comrade, say, 

Did you see any of our folks ? 
You did ? Shake hands, — Oh, ain't I glad ; 

For if I do look grim and rough, 
I've got some feelin' — People think 

A soldier's heart is mighty tough ; 
But, Harry, when the bullets fly, 

And hot saltpetre flames and smokes, 
While whole battalions lie afield, 

One's apt to think about his folks. 
And so you saw them — when ? and where ? 

The old man — is he hearty yet ? 
And mother — does she fade at all ? 

Or does she seem to pine and fret 
For me ? And Sis ? — has she grown tall ? 
And did you see her friend — you know 

That Annie Moss — (How this pipe 
chokes !) 
Where did you see her ? — tell me, Hal, 

A lot of news about our folks. 
You saw them in the church, you say ; 

It's likely, for they're always there. 
Not Sunday ? no ? A funeral ? Who ? 

Who, Harry ? how you shake and stare ! 
All well, you say, and all were out. 

What ails you, Hal ? Is this a hoax ? 
Why don't you tell me, like a man, 

What is the matter with our folks ? ' ' 
" I said all well, old comrade, true ; 



PATHETIC READINGS 



I say all well, for He knows best 
Who takes the young ones in His arms, 

Before the sun goes to the west. 
The axe- man Death deals right and left, 

And flowers fall as well as oaks ; 
And so — fair Annie blooms no more ! 

And that's the matter with your folks. 
See, this long curl was kept for you ; 

And this white blossom from her breast 
And here — your sister Bessie wrote 

A letter, telling all the rest. 
Bear up, old friend." Nobody speaks ; 

Only the old camp-raven croaks, 
And soldiers whisper : " Boys, be still ; 

There's some bad news from Grainger's 
folks." 
He turns his back — the only foe 

That ever saw it — on this grief, 
And, as men will, keeps down the tears 

Kind Nature sends to Woe's relief. 
Then answers he, " Ah, Hal, I'll try ; 

But in my throat there's something 
chokes, 
Because, you see, I've thought so long 

To count her in among our folks. 
I s'pose she must be happy now, 

But still I will keep thinking too, 
I could have kept all trouble off, 

By being tender, kind and true. 
Bat maybe not. She's safe up there, 

And when His hand deals other strokes, 
She'll stand by Heaven's gate, I know, 

And wait to welcome in our folks." 

Ethki, Lynn. 



THE OLD HAN'S VIGIL. 

By the bed the old man, waiting, sat in 
vigil, sad and tender, 
Where his aged wife lay dying ; and 
the twilight shadows, brown, 
Slowly from the wall and window, chased 
the sunset's golden splendor 
Going down. 

"Is it night?" she whispered, waking, 
(for her spirit seemed to hover 
Lost between the next world's sunrise 
and the bedtime cares of this) . 

And the old man, weak and tearful, trem- 
bling as he bent above her, 
Answered " Yes." 



"Are the children in?" she asked him. 

Could he tell her ? All the treasures 
Of their household lay in silence many 

years beneath the snow ; 
But her heart was with them living, back 

among her toils and pleasures 

Long ago. 

And again she called at dew-fall, in the 

sweet, old, summer weather, 
" Where is little Charley, father? Frank 

and Robert, have they come ? " 
"They are safe," the old man faltered, — ■ 

' ' all the children are together, 

Safe at home." 

Then he murmured gentle soothings, but 

his grief grew strong and stronger, 
Till it choked and stilled him as he held 

and kissed her wrinkled hand, 
For her soul, far out of hearing, could his 

fondest words no longer 

Understand. 

Still the pale lips stammered questions, 

lullabies and broken verses, 
Nursery prattle — all the language of a 

mother's loving heeds, 
While the midnight 'round the mourner, 

left to sorrow's bitter mercies, 

Wrapped its weeds. 

There was stillness on the pillow — and the 

old man listened, lonely — 
Till they led him from the chamber with 

the burden on his breast, 
For the faithful wife and mother, his early 

love and only 

Lay at rest. 

' ' Fare — you — well , " he sobbed , " my Sarah ; 

you will meet the babes before me ; 
'Tis a little while, for neither can the 

parting long abide. 
And you soon will come and call me, and 

kind Heaven will then restore me 

To your side." 

It was even so. The springtime, in the 

steps of winter treading, 
Scarcely shed its orchard blossoms ere 

the old man closed his eyes ; 
And they buried him by Sarah — and they 

had their ' ' diamond wedding ' ' 

In the skies. 



182 



PATHETIC READINGS 



"LIMPY TIM." 

A Pathetic Selection Easy to Recite. 

About the big post-office door 
Some boys were selling news, 

While others earned their slender 
store 
By shining people's shoes. 

They were surprised the other day 

By seeing ' ' Limpy Tim ' ' 
Approach in such a solemn way 

That they all stared at him. 

" Say, boys, I want to sell my kit ; 

Two brushes, blacking-pot 
And good stout box — the whole outfit ; 

A quarter buys the lot." 

" Goin' away? " cried one. " O no," 
Tim answered, " not to-day ; 

But I do want a quarter so, 
And I want it right away." 

The kit was sold, the price was paid, 

When Tim an office sought 
For daily papers ; down he laid 

The money he had brought. 

" I guess, if you'll lend me a pen, 
I'll write myself," he sighed ; 

With slowly moving fingers then 
He wrote this notice, " died — 

Of scarlet fever — Litul Ted — 
Aged three — gon up to heven — 

One brother left to mourn him dead — 
Funeral to-morrow — eleven. ' ' 

' ' Was it your brother ? ' ' asked the man 

Who took the notice in ; 
Tim tried to hide it, but began 

To quiver at the chin. 

The more he sought himself to brace 

The stronger grew his grief; 
Big tears came rolling down his face, 

To give his heart relief. 

' ' By selling out — my kit — I found — 

That quarter — " he replied ; 
' ' B — but he had his arms around 

My neck — when he d — died." 

Tim hurried home, but soon the news 
Among the boys was spread ; 



They held short, quiet interviews 
Which straight to action led. 

He had been home an hour, not more, 

When one with naked feet 
Laid down Tim's kit outside his door, 

With flowers white and sweet. 

Each little fellow took a part, 

His penny freely gave 
To soothe the burdened brother's heart, 

And deck the baby's grave. 

Those flowers have faced since that day, 

The boys are growing men, 
But the good God will yet repay 

The deed He witnessed then. 

The light which blessed poor "Limpy 
Tim" 
Decended from above — 
A ladder leading back to Him 
Whose Christian name is love. 

T. Harney. 



TO MARY IN HEAVEN. 

Composed by Burns, in September, 1789, on the anniversary 
of the day on which he heard of the death of his early love, 
Mary Campbell. 

Thou lingering star, with lessening ray, 
That lov'st to greet the early morn, 
Again thou usher'st in the day 
My Mary from my soul was torn. 
O Mary ! dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his 
breast ? 

That sacred hour can I forget — 

Can I forget the hallowed grove, 
Where by the winding Ayr we met 

To live one day of parting love ? 
Eternity will not efface 

Those records dear of transports past ; 
Thy image at our last embrace ; 

Ah ! little thought we 't was our last ! 

Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore, 
O'erhung with wild woods, thickening 
green ; 
The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, 
Twined amorous round the raptured 
Scene ; 



PATHETIC READINGS 



183 



The flowers sprang wanton to be prest, 
The birds sang love on every spray — 
Till soon, too soon, the glowing west 
Proclaimed the speed of winged day. 

Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes, 

And fondly broods with miser care ! 
Time but the impression stronger makes, 

As streams their channels deeper wear. 
My Mary ! dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hears 't thou the groans that rend his 
breast ? 

Robert Burns. 



THE DYING BOY. 

To be delivered in a natural sympathetic manner. 

A friend of mine, seeking for objects of 
charity, reached the upper room of a 
tenement house. It was vacant. He 
saw a ladder pushed through a hole in the 
ceiling. Thinking that perhaps some poor 
creature had crept up there, he climbed the 
ladder, drew himself through the hole, and 
found himself under the rafters . There was 
no light but that which came through a 
bull's eye in the place of a tile, Soon he 
saw a heap of chips and shavings, and on 
them lay a boy about ten years old. 

" Boy, what are you doing here ?" 

" Hush, don't tell anybody, please, sir." 

" What are you doing here ?" 

" Hush, please don't tell anybody, sir; 
I'm a-hiding." 

" What are you hiding for ?" 

" Don't tell anybody, please, sir." 

" Where's your mother ?" 

" Please, sir, mother's dead." 

" Where's your father?" 

' ' Hush, don't tell him. But look here. ' ' 
He turned himself on his face, and through 
the rags of his jacket and shirt my friend 
saw that the boy's flesh was terribly bruised, 
and his skin was broken. 

" Why, my boy, who beat you like 
that?" 

" Father did, sir." 

' ' What did he beat you for ?" 

" Father got drunk, sir, and beat me 'cos 
I wouldn't steal." 

" Did you ever steal ?" 



" Yes, sir ; I was a street-thief once." 

" And why won't you steal anymore ?" 

" Please, sir, I went to the mission 
school, and they told me there of God and 
of heaven, and of Jesus, and they taught 
me, ' Thou shalt not steal,' and I'll never 
steal again, if my father kills me for it. 
But please don't tell him." 

" My boy, you musn't stay here. You'll 
die. Now you wait patiently here for a 
little time, I'm going away to see a lady. 
We will get a better place for you than 
this." 

" Thank you; sir ; but please, sir, would 
you like to hear me sing my little hymn ' '? 

Bruised, battered, forlorn, friendless, 
motherless, hiding from an infuriated father, 
he had a little hymn to sing. 

" Yes, I will hear you sing your little 
hymn . ' ' 

He raised himself on his elbow and then 
sang : 

" Gentle Jesus, meek and mild, 
Look upon a little child, 
Pity my simplicity, 
Suffer me to come to Thee. 

" Fain would I to Thee be brought 
Gracious Lord, forbid it not : 
In the kingdom of Thy grace, 
Give a little child a place." 

' ' That's the little hymn, sir. Goodbye. " 
The gentleman hurried away for restora- 
tives and help , came back again in less than 
two hours, and climbed the ladder. There 
were the chips, there were the shavings, and 
there was the little motherless boy with one 
hand by his side and the other tucked in his 
bosom — dead. Oh, I thank God that He 
who said, "Suffer little children to come 
unto Me," did not say " respectable chil- 
dren," or " well-educated children." No, 
He sends His angels into the homes of pov- 
erty and sin and crime, where you do not 
like to go, and brings out His redeemed 
ones, and they are as stars in the crown of 
rejoicing to those who have been instru- 
mental in enlightening their darkness. 

John B. Gough. 



THE SINGER'S CLIMAX. 

C C Tp you want to hear ' Annie Laurie ' 

JL sung come to my house to-night," 

said a man to his friend. "We 

have a love-lorn fellow in the village who 



184 



PATHETIC READINGS 



was sadly wrecked by the refusal of a young 
girl to whom he had been paying attention 
for a year or more. . It is seldom he will 
attempt the song, but when he does I tell 
you he draws tears from eyes unused to 
weeping." 

A small select party had assembled in a 
pleasant parlor, and were gayly chatting and 
laughing when a tall young man entered 
whose peculiar face and air instantly arrested 
attention. He was very pale, with that 
clear, vivid complexion which dark haired 
consumptives so often have ; his locks were 
as black as jet, and hung profusely upon a 
square white collar ; his eyes were very 
large and spiritual, and his brow was such 
a one as a poet should have. But for a cer- 
tain wandering look, a casual observer 
would have pronounced him a man ot 
uncommon intellectual powers . The words 
"poor fellow," and " how sad he looks" 
went the rounds, as he came forward, bowed 
to the company, and took his seat. One or 
two thoughtless girls laughed as they whis- 
pered that he was " love-cracked," but the 
rest of the company treated him with respect- 
ful deference. 

It was late in the evening when singing 
was proposed, and to ask him to sing ' 'Annie 
Laurie " was a task of uncommon delicacy. 
One song after another was sung, and at last 
that one was named. At its mention the 
young man grew deadly pale, but he did not 
speak ; he seemed instantly to be lost in 
reverie 

' ' The name of the girl who treated him so 
badly was Annie " said a lady, whispering 
to the new guest, '' but oh ! I wish he would 
sing it ; nobody else can do it justice. " 

' ' No one dares to sing ' Annie Laurie ' 
before you Charles," said an elderly lady. 
' ' Would it be too much for me to ask you 
to favor the company with it? " she added, 
timidly. 

He did not reply for a moment ; his lip 
quivered, and then looking up as if he saw 
a spiritual presence, he began. Every soul 
was hushed, — it seemed as if his voice were 
the voice of an angel. The tones vibra- 
ted through nerve and pulse and heart, and 
made one shiver with the pathos of his feel- 
ing ; never was heard melody in a human 



voice like that — so plaintive, so soulful, so 
tender and earnest. 

He sat with his head thrown back his eyes 
half closed, the locks of dark hair glistening 
against his pale temple, his fine throat 
swelling with the rich tones, his hands 
lightly folded before him, and as he sung 

'And 'twas there that Annie Laurie 
Gave me her promise true." 

it seemed as if he shook from head to foot 
with emotion. Many a lip trembled, and 
there was no jesting, no laughing, but 
instead, tears in more than one eye. 

And on he sung and on, holding every one 
in rapt attention, till he came to the last 
verse : 

" Like dew on the gowan lying 

Is the fa' of her fairy feet, 
And like winds in summer sighing 

Her voice is low and sweet, 

Her voice is low and sweet, 
And she's a' the world to me — " 

He paused before he added, 

" And for bonnie Annie Laurie 
I'll lay me down and die," 

There was a long and solemn pause. 
The black locks seemed to grow blacker — 
the white temples whiter — almost imper- 
ceptibly the head kept falling back — the 
eyes were close shut. One glanced at 
another — all seemed awe-struck — till the 
same person who had urged him to sing laid 
her hand gently on his shoulder, saying : 

"Charles ! Charles! " 

Then came a hush — a thrill of horror crept 
through every frame — the poor, tried heart 
had ceased to beat. Charles, the love-be- 
trayed, was dead. 



THE PROGRESS OF MADNESS. 

The pathos of this selection must appear in the hopeless 
grief of the raving woman. The moods must be carefully 
studied and portrayed by the speaker. 

Stay, jailer, stay, and hear my woe ! 
He is not mad who kneels to thee ; 
For what I'm now too well I know, 
And what I was — and what should be! 
I'll rave no more in proud despair — 

My language shall be mild, though sad ; 
But yet I'll firmly, truly swear, 
I am not mad ! I am not mad ! 

My tyrant foes have forged the tale, 

Which chains me in this dismal cell ! 
My fate unknown my friends bewail — 



PATHETIC READINGS 



i85 



! jailer, haste that fate to tell ! 

! haste my father's heart to cheer ; 

His heart at once 't will grieve and glad, 
To know, though chained a captive here, 

1 am not mad ! I am not mad ! 

He smiles in scorn — he turns the key — 

He quits the grate — I knelt in vain ! 
His glimmering lamp still, still I see — 

'T is gone — and all is gloom again ! 
Cold, bitter cold ! — no warmth, no light ! 

Life, all thy comforts once I had ! 
Yet here I'm chained, this freezing night, 

Although not mad ! no, no — not mad ! 

'T is sure some dream — some vision vain ! 

What ! I — the child of rank and wealth — 
Am I the wretch who clanks this chain, 

Bereft of freedom, friends, and health? 
Ah ! while I dwell on blessings fled, 

Which never more my heart must glad, 
How aches my heart, how burns my head ' 

But 't is not mad ! it is not mad ! 

Hast thou, my child, forgot e'er this 

A parent's face, a parent's tongue? 
I'll ne'er forget thy parting kiss, 

Nor round my neck how fast you clung ! 
Nor how with me you sued to stay, 

Nor how that suit my foes forbade ; 
Nor how — I'll drive such thoughts away — 

They'll make me mad ! they'll make 
me mad ! 

Thy rosy lips, how sweet they smiled 1 
Thy mild blue eyes, how bright they 
shone ! 

None ever saw a lovelier child ! 
And art thou now for ever gone ? 

And must I never see thee more, 
My pretty, gracious, noble lad ?— - 

1 will be free ! Unbar the door ! 

I am not mad ! I am not mad ! 

O, hark ! what mean those yells and cries ? 

His chain some furious madman breaks ! 
He comes ! I see his glaring eyes ! 

Now, now, my dungeon grate he shakes ! 
Help ! help ! — he's gone ! O, fearful woe, 

Such screams to hear, such sights to see ! 
My brain, my brain ! I know, I know, 

I am not mad — but soon shall be ! 

Yes, soon ; for, lo ! now, while I speak, 
Mark how yon demon's eyeballs glare ! 



He sees me — now, with dreadful shriek, 
He whirls a serpent high in air ! 

Horror ! the reptile strikes his tooth 
Deep in my heart, so crushed and sad ! 

Ay, laugh, ye fiends ! I feel the truth ! 
Your task is done — I'm mad ! I'm mad ! 
M. G. Lewis. 



ON THE OTHER TRAIN. 

i C^T^HKRE Simmons, you blockhead ! Why 
X didn't you trot that old woman 
aboard her train ? She'll have to 
wait here now until 1.05 A. m." 

''You didn't tell me." 

" Yes, I did tell you. 'Twas only your 
confounded stupid carelessness." 

' ' She ! you fool ! What else could you 
expect of her? Probably she hasn't any 
wit ; besides, she isn't bound on a very 
jolly journey — got a pass up the road to 
the poor-house. I'll go and tell her, and 
if you forget her to-night, see if I don't 
make mince-meat of you ! " 

" You've missed your train, marm." 

A trembling hand raised a faded black 
veil and revealed the sweetest old face I 
ever saw. 

" Never mind," said a quivering voice. 

" 'Tis only three o'clock now, you'll 
nave to wait until the night train, which 
doesn 't go up until 1 .05 . ' ' 

" Very well, sir, I can wait." 

11 Wouldn't you like to go to some hotel ? 
Simmons will show you the way." 

"No, thank you, sir. One place is as 
good as another to me. Besides, I haven't 
any money." 

"Very well," said the agent, turning 
away indifferently. "Simmons will tell 
you when it's time. 

All the afternoon she sat there so quiet 
that I thought sometimes she must be 
asleep, but when I looked more closely I 
could see every once in a while a great tear 
rolling down her cheek, which she would 
wipe away hastily with her cotton handker- 
chief. 

The depot was crowded, and all was 
bustle and hurry until the 9.50 train going 
east ; then every passenger left except the 
old lady. It is very rare, indeed, that any 



186 



PATHETIC READINGS 



one takes the night express, and almost 
always after I have struck ten, the depot 
becomes silent and empty. 

The fire had gone down — it was a cold 
night, and the wind howled dismally out- 
side. The lamps grew dim and flared, 
casting weird shadows upon the wall. By 
and by I heard a smothered sob from the 
corner, then another. I looked in that 
direction. She had risen from her seat, 
and oh ! the look of agony on the poor, 
pinched face ! 

" I can't believe it," she sobbed, wring- 
ing her thin, white hands. " Oh! I can't 
believe it ! My babies ! my babies ! how 
often have I held them in my arms and 
kissed them ; and how often they used to 
say back to me, ' Ise love you mamma,' 
and now, oh God, they're against me. 
Where am I going ? To the poor-house ! 
No ! no ! no ! I cannot ! I will not ! Oh, 
the disgrace 1 ' ' and sinking upon her knees 
she sobbed out in prayer : " O, God, spare 
me this disgrace — spare me ! take me to 
thyself, dear Lord ! " 

The wind rose higher and swept through 
the crevices, icy cold. How it moaned and 
seemed to sob like something human that is 
hurt ! I began to shake, but the kneeling 
figure never stirred. The thin shawl had 
dropped from her shoulders unheeded. 
Simmons turned over and drew his heavy 
blanket more closely about him . 

Oh, how cold ! Only one lamp remained 
burning dimly ; the other two had gone out 
for want of oil. I could hardly see it was 
so dark. 

At last she became quieter and ceased to 
moan. Then I grew drowsy, and kind of 
lost the run of things after I had struck 
twelve, when some one entered the depot 
with a bright light. I started up. It was 
the brightest light I ever saw, and seemed 
to fill the room full of glory. I could see 
'twas a man. He walked to the kneeling 
figure and touched her upon the shoulder. 
She started up and turned her face wildly 
around. I heard him say : 

' 'Tis train time, ma'am. Come ! " 

"I'm ready," she whispered. 

" Then give me your pass, ma'am." 

She reached him a worn old book, which 
he took and from it read aloud ; ' ' Come 



unto Me all ye that labor and are heavy 
laden and I will give you rest." 

" That's the pass over our road, ma'am. 
Are you ready ? ' ' 

The light died away and darkness fell in 
its place. My hand touched the stroke of 
one. Simmons awoke with a start and 
snatched his lantern. The whistle shouted 
down brakes ; the train was due. He ran 
to the corner and shook the old woman. 

' ' Wake up, marm ; 'tis train time. ' ' 

But she never heeded. He gave one look 
at the white, set face, and, dropping the 
lantern, fled. 

The up-train halted, the conductor 
shouted, " All aboard," but no one made a 
move that way. 

The next morning, when the ticket agent 
came, he found her frozen to death. They 
whispered among themselves, and the coro- 
ner made out the verdict " apoplexy," and 
it was in some way hushed up. 

They laid her out in the depot, and adver- 
tised for her friends, but no one came. So, 
after the second day, they buried her. 

The last look on the sweet old face, lit up 
with a smile so unearthly, I keep with me 
yet ; and when I think of the strange occur- 
rence of that night, I know she went out on 
the other train, that never stopped at the 
poor-house. 



THE GAMBLER'S WIFE. 

Dark is the night ! How dark ! No 
light ; no fire ! 
Cold, on the earth, the last faint sparks 
expire ! 
Shivering, she watches by the cradle-side, 
For him, who pledged her love — last year a 
bride ! 

" Hark ! 'tis his foststep ! No ! 'tis past ! — 

'tis gone ! " 
Tick ! — tick ! — " How wearily the time 

crawls on ! 
Why should he leave me thus ? — He once 

was kind ! 
And I believed 'twould last ! — How mad ! 

— How blind ! 

•'Rest thee, my babe! — Rest on! — 'Tis 
hunger's cry ! 




THE VICAR AND OLIVIA 

Posed by the famous actors Henry Irving and Ellen Terry 
(Suggestion for Tableau) 



(187) 







"I'VE A MIND TO CALL HIM BACK, 
I WISH I HAD'NTTOLD HIM 'NO'" 



PATHETIC READINGS 



Sleep ! — for there is no food ! — the fount is 

dry! 
Famine and cold their wearying work have 

done. 
My heart must break ! And thou ! ' ' The 

clock strikes one. 

"Hush! 'tis the dice-box! Yes! he's 

there ! he's there ! 
For this ! — for this he leaves me to despair ! 
Leaves love ! leaves truth ! his wife ! his 

child ! for what ? 
The wanton's smile — the villain — and the 

sot ! 

"Yet I'll not curse him. No ! 'tis all in 

vain ! 
'Tis long to wait, but sure he'll come 

again ! 
And I could starve, and bless him, but for 

you, 
My child! his child! Oh, fiend! " The 

clock strikes two. 

' ' Hark ! how the sign- board creaks ! The 

blast howls by, 
Moan ! Moan ! a dirge swells through the 

cloudy sky ! 
Ha ! 'tis his knock ! he comes ! he comes 

once more ! ' ' 
'Tis but the lattice flaps ! Thy hope is o'er ! 

" Can he desert us thus ? He knows I stay, 
Night after night, in loneliness to pray, 
For his return — and yet he sees no tear ! 
No ! no ! it cannot be ! He will be here ! 



" Nestle more closely, dear one, to my 

heart ! 
Thou'rt cold ! thou'rt freezing ! But we 

will not part ! 
Husband ! — I die ! — Father ! It is not he ! 
O God ? protect my child ! ' ' The clock 

strikes three. 

They're gone, they're gone ! the glimmer- 
ing spark hath fled ! 

The wife and child are numbered with the 
dead. 

On the cold hearth, outstretched in solemn 
rest, 

The babe lay, frozen on its mother's breast ; 

The gambler came at last — but all was o'er — 



Dread silence reigned around ; — the clock 
struck four ! 

Rkynkll Coatks. 



THE OLD SPINSTER. 

By Permission of the Author. 

No, she never was married, but was to 
have been — 
At the time she was running the 
loom — 
But the fact'ry burned down, some were 

mangled and scarred, 
And her lover was never her groom, 
As he wedded a handsomer girl. 

To the stranger, old Rachel was ugly 

indeed, 
For her features were grim and distorted ; 
Tho' in years long gone by she was lovely 

and fair, 
As the hopes of her life that were thwarted 
By the dreadful mishap in the mill. 

But beneath the plain calico gown that she 

wore, 
Beat a heart that was loving and tender — 
As the villagers knew — and man, woman 

or child 
'Gainst the merest rude speech would 

defend her, 
So well was the poor woman loved. 

And right many's the maid, who, bewailing 

her woe, 
Has told Rachel the slight that distressed 

her, 
Only soon to trip on with a happier look, 
While the silly goose inwardly blessed her, 
For her comforting words and advice. 

Then the urchins have gone to her, covered 

with mud, 
Afraid to go home— perhaps crying — 
But old Rachel (the remedy) washed out 

the stains, 
And they laughed while their garments 

were drying, 
In the yard at the back of her cot. 

When the villagers slept, and the cricket 

and owl, 
And the rustling of leaves were unheeded, 



190 



PATHETIC READINGS 



In the room of the sick, by the nickering 

light 
Was she seen, where her presence was 

needed, 
While her gaunt shadow danced on the 

wall. 

And the outcasts who begged at her door 

for a crust, 
Ere they went on their wearisome ways, 
Felt that one thought them human and 

pitied their fate, 
Who recalled the remembrance of earlier 

days, 
And who reckoned them not by their rags. 

But the weight of her grief which was 

never revealed, — 
Save to Jesus — the friend of the lowly — 
Bore her down — and the sands of her 

desolate life, 
Which for years had been ebbing out 

slowly, 
Ceased to run — and her spirit was freed. 

When the villagers stood at the side of her 

grave, 
When the gray-headed preacher's voice 

faltered, 
When the tears trickeled down the bronzed 

cheeks of the men — 
Oh ! her beauty seemed fresh and unaltered 
As when happy she worked in the mill. 

And oft where she lies a bent form can be 

seen 
When the twilight is deepening its 

shadows : 
And the sweetest of flow 'rets are found on 

her tomb, 
All fresh from the dew-gleaming meadows ; 
Yet who gathers them no one can tell. 

Geo. M. Vickers. 



NOBODY'S CHILD. 

The following poem by Miss Phila H. Case, originally ap- 
peared, T867. It has been noticed and copied and sung and 
spoken almost everywhere, even finding its way into mf re than 
one English publication, and has really become a little " nobody's 
child," so far as its authorship and due credit are concerned. 

Alone, in the dreary, pitiless street, 
With my torn old dress and bare cold 
feet, 
All day I wandered to and fro, 
Hungry and shivering and nowhere to go; 



The night's coming on in darkness and 

dread, 
And the chill sleet beating upon my bare 

head ; 
Oh ! why does the wind blow upon me so 

wild ? 
It is because I'm nobody's child ? 

Just over the way there's a flood of light, 
And warmth and beauty, and all things 

bright ; 
Beautiful children, in robes so fair, 
Are caroling songs in rapture there. 
I wonder if they, in their blissful glee, 
Would pity a poor little beggar like me, 
Wandering alone in the merciless street, 
Naked and shivering and nothing to eat. 

Oh ! what shall I do when the night comes 

down 
In its terrible blackness all over the town ? 
Shall I lay me down 'neath the angry sky, 
On the cold hard pavements alone to die ? 
When the beautiful children their prayers 

have said, 
And mammas have tucked them up snugly 

in bed. 
No dear mother ever upon me smiled — 
Why is it, I wonder, that I'm nobody's 

child ! 

No father, no mother, no sister, not one 

In all the world loves me ; e'en the little 
dogs run 

When I wander too near them ; 'tis won- 
drous to see, 

How everything shrinks from a beggar like 
me ! 

Perhaps 'tis a dream ; but, sometimes, when 
Hie 

Gazing far up in the dark blue sky, 

Watching for hours some large bright 
star, 

I fancy the beautiful gates are ajar, 

And a host of white-robed, nameless things, 
Come fluttering o'er me in gilded wings ; 
A hand that is strangely soft and fair 
Caresses gently my tangled hair, 
And a voice like the carol of some wild 

bird 
The sweetest voice that was ever heard — 
Calls me many a dear pet name, 
Till my heart and spirits are all aflame ; 



PATHETIC READINGS 



191 



And tells me of such unbounded love, 
And bids me come up to their home above, 
And then, with such pitiful, sad surprise, 
They look at me with their sweet blue 

eyes, 
And it seems to me out of the dreary 

night, 
I am going up to the world of light, 
And away from the hunger and storms so 

wild — 
I am sure I shall then be somebody's 

child. 

Phila H. Cask. 



THE DYING AiXHEMIST. 

THE night-wind with a desolate moan 
swept by, 

And the old shutters of the turret 
swung 
Creaking upon their hinges ; and the moon, 
As the torn edges of the clouds flew past, 
Struggled aslant the stained and broken 

panes, 
So dimly, that the watchful eye of death 
Scarcely was conscious when it went and 

came. 
The fire beneath his crucible was low, 
Yet still it burned ; and ever, as his 

thoughts 
Grew insupportable, he raised himself 
Upon his wasted arm, and stirred the coals 
With difficult energy ; and when the rod 
Fell from his nerveless fingers, and his eye 
Felt faint within its socket, he shrank back 
Upon his pallet, and, with unclosed lips, 
Muttered a curse on death ! 

The silent room, 
From its dim corners, mockingly gave back 
His rattling breath ; the humming in the 

fire 
Had the distinctness of a knell ; and when 
Duly the antique horologe beat one, 
He drew a phial from beneath his head, 
And drank. And instantly his lips com- 
pressed, 
And, with a shudder in his skeleton frame, 
He rose with supernatural strength, and sat 
Upright, and communed with himself: 

' ' I did not think to die 
Till I had finished what I had to do ; 



I thought to pierce th' eternal secret 
through 

With this my mortal eye ; 
I felt, — Oh, God ! it seemeth even now — 
This cannot be the death- dew on my brow ; 

Grant me another year, 
God of my spirit ! — but a day, — to win 
Something to satisfy this thirst within ! 

I would know something here ! 
Break for me but one seal that is unbroken ! 
Speak for me but one word that is unspoken ! 

"Vain, — vain, — my brain is turning 
With a swift dizziness, and my heart grows 

sick, 
And these hot temple- throbs come fast and 
thick, 
And I am freezing, — burning, — 
Dying ! Oh, God ! if I might only live ! 
My phial — Ha ! it thrills me, — I revive. 

"Aye, — were not man to die, 
He were too mighty for this narrow sphere ! 
Had he but time to brood on knowledge 
here, — 
Could he but train his eye, — 
Might he but wait the mystic word and 

hour, — 
Only his Maker would transcend his power ! 

' ' This were indeed to feel 
The soul-thirst slacken at the living 

stream, — 
To live, Oh, God ! that life is but a dream ! 

And death — Aha ! I reel, — 
Dim, — dim, — I faint, darkness comes o'er 

my eye, — 
Cover me ! save me ! — -God of heaven ! 
I die!" 

'Twas morning, and the old man lay alone. 
No friend had closed his eyelids, and 

his lips, 
Open and ashy pale, the expression wore 
Of his death struggle. His long silvery 

hair 
Lay on his hollow temples, thin and wild, 
His frame was wasted, and his features wan 
And haggard as with want, and in his palm 
His nails were driven deep, as if the throe 
Of the last agony had wrung him sore. 

The storm was raging still. The shutter 

swung, 
Creaking as harshly in the fitful wind, 



192 



PATHETIC READINGS 



And all without went on, — as aye it will, 
Sunshine or tempest, reckless that a heart 
Is breaking, or has broken, in its change. 

The fire beneath the crucible was out. 
The vessels of his mystic art lay round, 
Useless and cold as the ambitious hand 
That fashioned them, and the small rod, 
Familiar to his touch for threescore years, 
Lay on th' alembic's rim, as if it still 
Might vex the elements at its master's will. 

And thus had passed from its unequal frame 
A soul of fire, — a sun-bent eagle stricken, 
From his high soaring, down, — an instru- 
ment 
Broken with its own compass. Oh, how 

poor 
Seems the rich gift of genius, when it lies, 
Like the adventurous bird that hath out- 
flown 
His strength upon the sea, ambition 

wrecked, — 
A thing the thrush might pity, as she sits 
Brooding in quiet on her lowly nest. 

Nathaniel Parker Willis. 



THE BRIDGE. 



A favorite haunt of Longfellow's was the bridge between 
Boston and Cambridge, over which he had to pass, almost daily. 
The following poem was the result of one of his reflections, 
while standing on this bridge at midnight. 

I stood on the bridge at midnight. 
As the clocks were striking the 
hour, 
And the moon rose o'er the city, 
Behind the dark church tower ; 

And like the waters rushing 

Among the wooden piers, 
A flood of thought came o'er me, 

That filled my eyes with tears. 

How often, O how often, 

In the days that had gone by, 



I had stood on that bridge at midnight, 
And gazed on that wave and sky ! 

How often, O how often, 

I had wished that the ebbing tide 
Would bear me away on its bosom 

O'er the ocean wild and wide ! 

For my heart was hot and restless, 
And my life was full of care, 

And the burden laid upon me 

Seemed greater than I could bear. 

But now it has fallen from me, 

It is buried in the sea ; 
And only the sorrow of others 

Throws its shadow over me. 

Yet whenever I cross the river 
On its bridge with wooden piers, 

Like the odor of brine from the ocean 
Comes the thought of other years. 

And I think how many thousands 

Of care- encumbered men, 
Each having his burden of sorrow, 

Have crossed the bridge since then. 

I see the long procession 

Still passing to and fro, 
The young heart hot and restless, 

And the old, subdued and slow ! 

And forever and forever, 

As long as the river flows, 
As long as the heart has passions, 

As long as life has woes ; 

The moon and its broken reflection 
And its shadows shall appear, 

As the symbol of love in heaven, 
And its wavering image here. 

Henry W. Longfellow. 



Part VI 

HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



'T^HE humorous side of life, like the serious side has its literature, and it is a literature 
of untold wealth. In fact, pathos and laughter are the closest of kin, in their origin 
as well as in the pleasurable and beneficial effects they produce upon mind and body. 
Physiologists tell us that the lacrymal glands and the risible muscles are the nearest of 
neighbors in the human countenance. 

" God would not have given man a laughter if he had not meant he should laugh," 
said the inimitable Rev. Sam Jones, the evangelist, daughter is both pleasant and pro- 
fitable. Thousands of evils and ills have been laughed out of existence. " Humor" 
says Whipple " is the very juice of the mind, oozing from the brain and enriching and fer- 
tilizing wherever it falls — it glides into the heart of its object, and looks amusingly but 
lovingly upon the infirmities it detects." 

The following selections are so varied and broad in character that something may be 
found suitable to all sorts of occasions. 



THE WIDDY O'SHANE'S RINT. 

Irish Dialect. 

Whisht there ! Mary Murphy, doan 
think me insane, 
But I'm dyin' ter tell ye of Widdy 
O' Shane : 
She as lives in the attic nixt mine, doan ye 

know 
An' does the foine washin' for ould Misther 
Shnow. 

Wid niver a chick nor a child ter track in, 
Her kitchen is always as nate as a pin ; 
An' her cap an' her apron is always that 

clane — 
Och, a moighty foine gurrel is the Widdy 

O' Shane. 

An' wud ye belave me, on Saturday night 
We heard a rough stip comin' over our 

flight ; 
An' Mike, me ould man, he jist hollered to 

me. 



"Look out av the door, an' see who it 
moight be." 

An' I looked, Mary Murphy, an' save me if 

there 
Wusn't Thomas Mahone on the uppermost 

stair, 
(He's the landlord ; ye're seen him yerselt, 

wid a cane) , 
An' he knocked on the door of the Widdy 

O' Shane. 

An' I whispered to Michael, "Now what 

can it mane 
That his worship is calling on Widdy 

O' Shane?" 
Rint day comes a Friday wid us, doan you 

see, 
So I knew that it wusn't collectin' he'd be. 

' ' It must be she owes him some money for 

rint, 
Though the neighbors do say that she pays 

to the cint , 



194 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



You take care of the baby, Michael Brady,' 

says I, 
" An' I'll pape through the keyhole, I will, 

if I die." 

The howly saints bliss me ! what shuldn't I 

see 
But the Widdy O' Shane sittin' pourin' the 

tea ; 
An' the landlord wus there, Misther Thomas 

Mahone, 
A sittin' one side ov the table alone. 
An' he looked at the Widdy O' Shane, an' 

sez he, 
" It's a privilege great that ye offer ter me ; 
Fer I ' ve not once sat down by a fair woman 's 

side 
Since I sat down by her that I once called 

me bride. 

" An' is it ye're poor now, Widdy O'Shane; 
Ye 're a dacent woman, both tidy and clane; 
An' we're both av us here in the wurruld 

alone, 
Wud ye think of unitin' wid Thomas 

Mahone?' 
Then the Widdy O'Shane put the tea kettle 

down, 
An' she says, "Misther Thomas, your name 

is a crown ; 
I take it most gladly " — an' then me ould 

man 
Hollered, " Bridget, cum in here, quick as 

yer can." 

So then Mary Murphy, I riz off that floor, 
An' run into me attic an' bolted the door ; 
An' I sez to me Michael, " Now isn't it 

mane? 
She'll have no rint to pay, will that Widdy 

O'Shane." 



WAS IT JOB THAT HAD WARTS ON HIM? 

Practice to imitate the three voices distinctly. 

Represent the boy as calling from an adjoning room. The wife 
engaged near her husband speaks in a low but rebuking tone. 

UT)A," said young Mulkittle, "Was it 
JL Job that had warts on him?" 

" Didn't I tell you," exclaimed the 
father, " that I would punish you if you 
ever again attempted to question me in re- 
gard to the Bible?" 

" But I want to know." 



"Why don't you instruct the child?" 
asked Mrs. Mulkittle. 

"Because he's too foolish to be taught 
anything. He dosen't really want to know 
he merely wants to talk." 

After remaining silent for a few moments, 
Mr. Mulkittle suddenly remembered that he 
had not answered the boy's question in re- 
gard to Job, and not wishing to leave the 
child under the impression that the biblica! 
example of patience was afflicted with warts , 
he exslaimed, " No !" 

" No what?" asked the boy in surprise. 

" I say that Job did not have warts." 

" What was the matter with him ?" 

"He had boils." 

' ' Did God make the boils come on him ? 

"Yes." 

"What for?" 

" To test his patience." 

"How?" 

" Why, to see — that is — to determine the 
extent of Job's fidelity." 

"Job didn't want the boils, did he ?" 

" I suppose not." 

"But God wanted him to have e'm, 
didn't he?" 

" Yes, I suppose so." 

" And if God wanted you to have boils, 
you'd have 'em wouldn't you?" 

" I think so." 

" But you don't want 'em, do you?" 

"No." 

"But if God wanted you to have 'em, 
you'd have to have 'em, wouldn't you ?" 

"Yes." 

' ' But you don't want God to want you to 
have to have 'em — " 

" Dry up, sir ! You never will have any 
sense. I am ashamed of you, and don't 
want to associate with you," and the good 
man went into his study and composed a 
sermon on the "Early Instruction of Chil- 
dren." 

BABY IN CHURCH. 

Amusing at Sunday School or Church Entertain- 
ment. 
Aunt NELUK had fashioned a dainty 
thing, 
Of Hamburg and ribbon and lace. 
And mamma had said, as she settled it 
round 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



195 



Our beautiful baby's face, 
Where the dimples play and the laughter 

lies 
Like sunbeams hid in her violet eyes ; 
" If the day is pleasant and baby is good, 
She may go to church and wear her new 

hood." 

Then Ben, aged six, began to tell, 

In elder-brotherly way, 
How very, very good she must be 

If she went to church next day. 
He told of the church, the choir, and the 

crowd, 
And the man up in front who talked so loud ; 
But she must not talk, nor laugh, nor sing, 
But just sit as quiet as anything. 

And so, on a beautiful Sabbath in May, 
When the fruit-buds burst into flowers, 

(There wasn't a blossom on bush or tree 
So fair as this blossom of ours,) 

All in her white dress, dainty and new, 

Our baby sat in the family pew. 

The grand, sweet music, reverent air, 

The solemn hush, and the voice of prayer 

Filled all her baby soul with awe, 

As she sat in her little place, 
And the holy look that the angels wear 

Seemed pictured upon her face. 
And the sweet words uttered so long ago 
Come into my mind with a rhythmic flow ; 
"Of such is the kingdom of heaven," 

said He, 
And I knew that He spake of such as she. 

The sweet-voiced organ pealed forth again, 

The collection-box came round, 
And baby dropped her penny in, 

And smiled at the clinking sound. 
Alone in the choir Aunt Nellie stood, 
Waiting the close of the soft prelude, 
To begin her solo. High and strong, 
She struck the first note ; clear and long 

She held it, and all were charmed but one, 

Who, with all the might she had, 
Sprang to her little feet and cried : 

"Aunt Nellie ', yous being bad /" 
The audience smiled, the minister coughed, 
The little boys in the corner laughed, 
The tenor man shook like an aspen leaf, 
And hid his face in his handkerchief. 



And poor Aunt Nellie never could tell 
How she finished that terrible strain, 
But says that nothing on earth would tempt 

Her to go through the scene again. 
So, we have decided perhaps 'tis best. 
For her sake, ours, and all the rest, 
That we wait, maybe, for a year or two, 
Ere our baby re-enter the family pew- 



DE CAMPANE OB NINETEEN— HUNDRED. 
Brother Gardner Firing the First Gun. 

i {, T^KivLKR Citizens ob Dis Limekiln Club 
JP an' de United State — I hev no doubt 
dat in yo'r minds yo' am axin why 
dis whenceness an what has become ob de- 
goneness which has heretofo' greeted yo' in 
dis hall. Look about yo' an' read designs. I 
hev had my ear to de ground an' heard de 
boom ob de open'g gun. (Cheers.) 

" Bend yo'r ear to de east, an' yo' h'ar a 
whoopin' an' a shoutin'. It's de millyons 
gittin' ready to jine in de campaign. Bend 
yo'r ear to de west, an' yo' h'ar ascreechin' 
an' a yellin'. It's de millyons gittin' ready 
fur a row. (Whoop.) It's de same in de 
no'th an' de south. Fo' y'ars has rolled 
around ag'in, an' ebery man from Maine to 
California feels dat de fate of de United 
Staits rests upon his vote. (Howls of 
enthusiasm.) Ober dar on de wall is a sign 
readin' ' Whar Do yo' Stand ? ' Dat's what 
each an' ebery man ob yo' wants to keep 
axin' hisself till yo' feel as firmly settled as 
a cow in de quickstands. Don't make no 
mistake about it. In religun yo' kin wob- 
ble about from Baptist to Methodist an' back 
ebery five or six weeks an' be saved in de 
eand, but de man who sots out to save 
No ' th America can ' t do no wobblin ' . (Cries 
of No, no ! ') He's got to find out whar 
he stands an' stick to it. 

" Havin' opened dis campaign wid a 
whoop, we hev got to stick right to it an' 
close wid a yell. (' We will ! ') De man 
who starts in to save his kentry has no time 
to go fishin' or roost on a rail fence. He's 
got to keep right at work day an' night, an' 
he's got to keep his enthoosiasum up to de 
b'ilin' pint eben if de watermillyon crap am 
a failure an' all de possums go ober to de 
opposition. (Whoops.) 



196 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



" I spoke to yo' ob liberty an' freedom. 
Dem ar' our guidin' principles, but darwill 
be other principles to fit in wid dem to make 
up a glorious whole. (Agitation.) Fur 
instance, it has bin diskivered dat a pusson 
kin hold office an' save de United Staits 
from a collapse at de same time. (Cheers.) 

" Fur instance, ag'in, I hev taken a two- 
foot rule an' measured it off an' satisfied my- 
self dat de mo' de salary attached to de 
office de greater de patriotism ob de man 
who holds it. (Shouts for George Wash- 
ington and Patrick Henry) . 

" Lettin' go ob No'th America fur a mo- 
ment an' speakin' fur de cull-d race alone, 
we hev hitherto gone on de principle dat de 
office should seek de man. It has alius hap- 
pened, howeber, dat when de office cum 
seekin' de man he wasn't home, an' it 
passed on to the Caucasian. (Groans.) I 
reckon we shall make a change in dat prin- 
ciple. It's quite likely dat de cull-d man 
will start out to seek office, instead of 
waitin', an' dat he'll find it, too. (Applause 
which extinguished two lamps and wabbled 
the stovepipe.) 

" In dis, de openin' ob de campaign, it 
may be as well dat we announce our plat- 
form. Experience in yellin' fur candidates 
all day an' carry in' a torchlight around all 
de evenin' has taught me dat nobody kin 
start out widout a platform. It's like put- 
tin' on a suit ob clothes. Yo' am gwine to 
judge a man by de looks of de cloth. No- 
body ever sticks to de platform after he's 
got de crowd follerin' him around, but it's 
got to be dar to begin wid. 

" An we shall take as our emblem an' as 
our mascot a possum hangin' from de limb 
ob a tree by its tail. We shall be known as 
the Possum Party. De possum, he lays low. 
When yo' reckon he's dead, he's foolin' yo'. 
He represents patience an perseverance. 
He'll git dar when deb 'ar an' decoon won't 
stand no show. In dis hall at our next 
meetin' will hang our emblem, an' eberyman 
who am fur honest guberment will wear de 
Possum badge on his breast. (Tremendous 
and long- continued yells for possums, lib- 
erty and our side.) 

" An' now let us march for'ard to victory. 
We hev sot our faces to de front, an' dere 
will be no turnin' back. Liberty fust, 



den principle; den liberty an' principle an' 
office, all bolted together an' handed out 
widout any string attached. Let us now 
sing de ' Star Spangled Banner, ' followed 
by ' Yankee Doodle,' an' disperse to meet 
ag'in at de call ob de bugle of liberty." 

C. B. Lkwis. 



HAN AND THE MOSQUITO. 

This humorously absurd serio-comic selection should be 
recited in a dignified manner with a learned look on the face. 
No matter how much the audience laughs ; no trace of a smile 
must appear on the speaker's countenance. . 

Gentlemen, Mr. President, and Ladies : 
I rise before this augustus body with 
feelings more easily described than 
imagined. I come to address you upon a 
subject in which you are all concerned — a 
subject upon the decision of which depends 
the destiny of a nation. And I wish to 
speak in language so simple that even the 
women and children may be able to under- 
stand me. 

What is man? Man is an amphibious, 
plantigrade, hyporetted quadruped of the 
genus felix or genus rana, carniverous in 
some respects, herbivorous in some respects 
and jubiverous in the rest. He lives prin- 
cipally on goats, herrings, kerosene oil and 
common whiskey. He does not live alone, 
but usually has another man living with 
him called the 7^0-man. 

But let us proceed to define mosquito. 
The mosquito is a high-bred, carniverous, 
digitigrade indentate biped animal of the 
genus homo , closely allied to the Armadillo. 
Habits precarious, similar to those of man. 
His food is chiefly rare meats, but he is 
also, like man, fond of ham and eggs, ice 
cream and oysters on the half shell. 

Another point, man sings. Ditto the 
mosquito. What music is more charming 
or so touches the feelings, or so arouses a 
man from drowsiness as the sweet-toned 
and melodious voice of a mosquito. Who 
on hearing this sweet gentle voice will not 
instinctively reach forth and try to gather 
the singer in that he may come in closer 
contact with him ? 

Picture to yourselves a poor, innocent, 
harmless mosquito on a cold winter's night 
singing for something to eat. That man's 
heart must indeed be as hard as the Rock 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



197 



of Niagara or the Falls of Gibraltar who is 
not touched with the profoundest and most 
sympathetic feeling as he looks out upon 
such a scene as this. But I will not dwell 
longer, as I already see the tears trickling 
down your cheeks. I have only one practi- 
cal remark to make in winding up, the 
extreme force of which you will all see. 
Shakespeare said that John Milton told 
Lord Byron and Ben Johnson that Beau- 
mont and Fletcher were heard to whisper 
that Sir Walter Raleigh and John Ford had 
said that Eord Bacon and Edmund Spenser 
had responded to a question which Sir 
Philip Sydney had been supposed to pro- 
pound to Thomas Sackville, who seemed to 
be satisfied that John Lyfy had never 
thought that Robert Green and George 
Peele would be surprised if Edmund Waller 
and Francis Quarles had heard that Sir 
Thomas Brown and Thomas Fuller were 
under the impression that Jeremy Taylor had 
remarked to Samuel Butler that John 
Dryden was heard talking to William Con- 
greve about the remark of John L,ocke to a 
friend in which Sir Isaac Newton was 
believed to have imagined that Sir Humph- 
rey Davy had suggested that Liebig might 
have known that Edgar Poe had said that 
Alexander Pope and George Washington 
had told Henry Clay that President Arthur 
was heard talking about a report in which 
the Honorable Zebedee Simpkins was heard 
to repeat the fact that mosquitos are related 
to the human family. 

W. J. E. Cox. 



REVERIE IN CHURCH. 

Young lady should be dresed in the height of fashion and walk 
on the stage as if coming into church, without appearing to notice 
the audience, sit dcwn and begin. 



T 



00 early of course ! Plow provoking ! 
I told ma just how it would be. 

I might as well have on -a wrapper, 
For there's not a soul here yet to see. 



There ! Sue Delaplaine's pew is empty, - 

I declare if it isn't too bad ! 
I know my suit cost more than her's did, 

And I wanted to see her look mad. 

I do think that sexton's too stupid — 
He's put some one else in our pew— 



And the girl's dress just kills mine com- 
pletely ; 
Now what am I going to do ? 

The psalter, and Sue isn't here yet ! 

I don't care, I think it's a sin 
For people to get late to service, 

Just to make a great show coming in. 

Perhaps she is sick, and can't get here— 
She said she'd a headache last night. 

How mad she'll be after fussing ! 

I declare it would serve her just right. 

Oh, you've got there at last, my dear, have 
you? 

Well, I don't think you need be so proud 
Of that bonnet if Virot did make it, 

It's horrid, fast-looking and loud. 

What a dress ! — for a girl in her senses 
To go on the street in light blue ! — 
And those coat- sleeves — they wore them 
last summer — 
Don't doubt, though, that she thinks 
they're new. 

Mrs. Gray's polonaise was imported — 
So dreadful !— a minister's wife, 

And thinking so much about fashion ! — 
A pretty example of life ! 

The altar's dressed sweetly — I wonder 
Who sent those white flowers for the 
font !— 

Some girl who's gone on the assistant — 
Don't doubt it was Bessie I^amont. 

Just look at her now, little humbug ! — 
So devout — I suppose she don't know 

That she's bending her head too far over 
And the ends of her switches all show. 

What a sight Mrs. Ward is this morning ! 

That woman will kill me some day, 
With her horrible lilacs and crimsons, 

Why will these old things dress so gay ? 

And there's Jenny Wells with Fred Tracy — 
She's engaged to him now — horrid thing! 
Dear me ! I'd keep on my glove sometimes, 
If I did have a solitaire ring ! 

How can this girl next to me act so — 
The way that she. turns round and stares, 



198 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



And then makes remarks about people : — 
She'd better be saying her prayers. 

Oh, dear, what a dreadful long sermon ! 

He must love to hear himself talk ! 
And it's after twelve now, — how provoking ! 

I wanted to have a nice walk. 

Through at last ! Well, it isn't so dreadful 
After all, for we don't dine till one : 

How can people say church is poky ! — 
So wicked ! — I think its real fun. 

George A. Baker, Jr. 



"HELEN'S BABIES" ON NOAH'S ARK. 

Humorous Child Sketch. 

That afternoon I devoted to making a 
bouquet for Miss May ton, and a most 
delightful occupation I found it. It 
was no florist's bouquet, composed of only 
a few kinds of flowers -wired upon sticks, 
and arranged according to geometric pattern. 
I used many a rare flower, too shy of bloom 
to reccommend itself to florists ; I combined 
tints almost as numerous as the flowers 
were, and perfumes to which city bouquets 
are utter strangers. 

At length it w T as finished, but my delight 
suddenly became clouded by the dreadful 
thought, "What will people say?" Ah! 
I had it. I had seen in one of the library 
drawers a small pasteboard box, shaped like 
a bandbox ; doubtless that would hold it. 
I found the box ; it was of just the size I 
needed. I dropped my card into the bot- 
tom — no danger of a lady not finding the 
card accompanying a gift of flowers — neatly 
fitted the bouquet in the center of the box, 
and went in search of Mike. He winked 
cheeringly as I explained the nature of his 
errand, and he whispered : 

" I'll do it clane as a whistle, yer honor. 
Mistress Clarkson's cook an' mesilf under- 
stand each other, an' I'm used to goin' 
up the back way. Niver a man can see but 
the angels, an' they won't tell." 

"Very well, Mike; here's a dollar for 
you ; you'll find the box on the hat-rack, in 
the hall." 

Toddie disappeared somewhere after 
supper, and came back very disconsolate. 

"Can't find my dolly's k'adle," he 
whined . 



' ' Never mind, old pet, ' ' said I soothingly. 
" Uncle will ride you on his foot." 

" But I want my dolly's k'adle," said he 
piteously rolling out his lower lip, 

" Don't you want me to tell you a 
story ? ' ' 

For a moment Toddie 's face indicated a 
terrible internal conflict between old Adam 
and mother Eve ; but curiosity finally over- 
powered natural depravity, and Toddie 
murmured : 

" Yesh." 

" What shall I tell you about?" 

" Bout Nawndeark." 

" About what?" 

1 ' He means Noah an ' the ark , ' ' exclaimed 
Budge. 

" Datsh what / say — Nawndeark," de- 
clared Toddie. 

" Well," said I, hastily refreshing my 
memory by picking up the Bible — for Helen, 
like most people, is pretty sure to forget to 
pack her Bible when she runs away from 
home for a few days — " well; once it rained 
forty days and nights, and everybody was 
drowned from the face of the earth, except- 
ing Noah, a righteous man, who was saved 
with all his family in an ark which the Lord 
commanded him to build. 

"Uncle Harry," said Budge, after con- 
templating me with open eyes and mouth 
for at least two minutes after I had finished, 
' ' do you think that's Noah ? ' ' 

"Certainly, Budge; here's the whole 
story in the Bible." 

" Well, /don't think it's Noah one single 
bit," said he, with increasing emphasis. 

"I'm beginning to think we read differ- 
ent Bibles, Budge ; but let's hear your 
version." 

"Huh?" 

"Tell me about Noah, if you know so 
much about him." 

" I will, if you want me to. Once the 
Lord felt so uncomfortable cos folks was 
bad that he was sorry he ever made any- 
body, or any world or anything. But 
Noah wasn't bad ; the Lord liked him first- 
rate, so he told Noah to build a big ark, 
and then the Lord would make it rain so 
everybody should be drownded but Noah 
an' his little boys an' girls, an' doggies an' 
pussies an' mamma-cows an' little boy-cows 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



199 



an' little girl-cows an' hosses an' every- 
thing; they'd go in the ark and wouldn't 
get wetted a bit when it rained. An' 
Noah took lots of things to eat in the ark — 
cookies an' milk an' oatmeal an' straw- 
berries an' porgies an' — oh yes ; an' plum- 
puddin's an' pumpkin-pies. But Noah 
didn't want everybody to get drownded, so 
he talked to folks an' said, 'It's goin' to 
rain awful pretty soon ; You'd better be 
good, an' then the Lord '11 let you come 
into my ark.' An' they jus' said, ' Oh ! if 
it rains we'll go in the house till it stops ; ' 
an' other folks said, ' We ain't afraid of 
rain; we've got an umbrella.' An' some 
more said they wasn't goin' to be afraid of 
just a rain. But it did rain though, an' 
folks went in their houses, an' the water 
came in, an' they went upstairs, an' the 
water came up there, an' they got on the 
tops of the houses, an' up in big trees, an' 
up in mountains, an' the water went after 
'em everywhere, an' drownded everybody, 
only just except Noah an' the people in the 
ark. An' it rained forty days an' nights, 
an' then it stopped, an' Noah got out of 
the ark, an' he an' his little boys an' girls 
went wherever they wanted to7 an' every- 
thing in the world was all theirs ; there 
wasn't anybody to tell 'em to go home, nor 
no kindergarten schools to go to, nor no 
bad boys to fight 'em, nor nothin.' Now 
tell us 'nother story." 

" An' I want my dolly's k'adle. Ocken 
Hawwy, I wants my dolly's k'adle, tause 
my dolly's in it, an' I wan to shee her," 
interrupted Toddie. 

Just then came a knock at the door. 
11 Come in ! " I shouted. 

In stepped Mike, with an air of the great- 
est secrecy, handed me a letter and the 
identical box in which I had sent the 
flowers to Miss May ton. What could it 
mean ? I hastily opaned the envelope, and 
and at the same time Toddie skrieked : 

"Oh! darsh my dolly's k'adle — dare 
tizh ! " snatched and opened the box, and 
displayed — his doll ! My heart sickened, 
and did not regain its strength during the 
perusal of the following note : 

" Miss May ton herewith returns to Mr. 
Burton the package which just arrived 
with his card. She recognizes the con- 



tents as a portion of the apparent property 
of one of Mr. Burton's nephews, but is 
unable to understand why it should have 
been sent to her. 

"JUNS 20, 1875." 

"Toddie," I roared, as my younger 
nephew caressed his loathsome doll, and 
murmured endearing words to it, "where 
did you get that box ? ' ' 

"On the hat-wack," replied the youth, 
with perfect fearlessness. "I keeps it in 
ze book-case djawer, an' somebody took it 
'way an' put nasty ole flowers in it." 

' ' Where are those flowers ?" I demanded. 

Toddie looked up with considerable sur- 
prise, but promptly replied : 

"I froed 'em away — don't want no ole 
flowers in my dolly's k'adle. That's ze 
way she wocks — see ! ' ' 

John Habberton. 



KENTUCKY PHILOSOPHY. 

This recitation may be used as an amusing scene in an 
entertainment by the reciter, dressing as a negro woman — calico 
dress, black face, red bandana handkerchief on head. William 
departing from stage as mammy enters and halts as she hails him. 
The green watermelon, Mirandy etc., introducedat properpoints 

You Wiyum, come 'ere, suh, dis instunce, 
Wut dat you got under dat box ? 
I do ' want no foolin '-^you hear me ? 
Wut you say ? Ain't nothin' but rocks? 
Pears ter me you's owdashus p'ticler. 

S'posin dey's uv a new kine. 
I'll des take a look at dem rocks. 
Hi-yi ! der you tink dat I's bline ? 

I calls dat a plain watermillion, 

You scamp ; an' I knows whar it growed ? 
It cum fum de Jimmerson cawn fiel', 

Dar on ter side er de road. 
You stole it, you rascal — you stole it. 

I watched you fum down in de lot, 
En time I gits th'ough wid you, nigger, 

You wont eb'n be a grease spot. 

I'll fix you. Mirandy ! Mirandy ! 

Go cut me a hick'ry — make 'ase, 
En cut me de toughes' en keenes' 

You c'n fine anywhah on de place. 
I'll larn you, Mr. Wiyum Joe Vetters 

Ter lie en ter steal, you young sinner ! 
Disgracin' yo' ole Christian mammy, 

En makin' her leave cookin' dinner ! 



200 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



Now, ain't you ashamed er yo'se'f, sur? 

I is. I's 'shamed youse my son ! 
En de holy accorgian angel 

He's 'shamed er wut youse done. 
En he's tuk it down up yander, 

I coal-black, blood-red letters — 
1 ' One watermillion stoled 

By Wiyum Josephus Vetters." 

En whut you s'posen Br'er Bascom, 

You' teacher at Sunday-School, 
'Ud say if he knowed how youse broke 

De good Lawd's Gol'n Rule ? 
Boy, whah's de raisin' I gib you? 

Is you boun fuh ter be a black villiun ? 
I's s 'prised dat a chile er you mammy 

'Ud steal any man's watermillion. 

En I's now gwine ter cut it right open, 

En you shian't have nary bite, 
Fuh a boy who'll steal watermillions — 

En dat in de day's broad light — 
Ain't — Lawdy ! it's green ! Mirandy ! 

Mirandy ! come on wi' dat switch ! 
Well, stealin' a g-r-e-e-n watermillion ! 

Who ebber heered tell er sich ? 

Cain't tell w'en dey's ripe ? W'y you thump 
um, 

En w'en they go pank dey is green ; 
But w'en dey go punk, now you mine me, 

Dey's ripe — en dats des' wut I mean. 
En nex' time you hook watermillions — 

You heered me, you ig-namp, you hunk, 
Ef you do' want a lickin' all over, 

Be sho ' dat dey allers go ' 'pu?ik ! ' ' 



HOW "RUBY" PLAYED. 

The gentleman who recites this piece should be attired as a 
country gentleman of the wealthier sort, and should be a good 
comedian. The selection is very humorous when well rendered. 

WELL, sir, he had the blamedest, big- 
gest, catty cornedest pianner you 
ever laid eyes on; somethin' like 
a distracted billiard table on three legs. 
The lid was hoisted, and mighty well it 
was. If it hadn't been, he'd a tore the 
entire inside clean out, and scattered 'em 
to the four winds of heaven. 

Played well? You bet he did ; but don't 
interrupt me. When he first sit down, he 
'peared to keer mighty little 'bout playin', 

and wisht he hadn't come, He tweedAe-tee- 



dled a little on the treble, and twoodle-oodled 
some on the bass — just foolin' and boxin' 
the thing's jaws for bein' in the way. And 
I says to a man settin' next to me, says I, 
' ' What sort of fool playin' is that ?" And 
he says, " Hush !" But presently his hands 
commenced chasin' one another up and 
down the keys like a parcel of rats scam- 
perin' through a garret very swift. Parts 
of it were sweet, though, and reminded me 
of a sugar squirrel turnin' the wheel of a 
candy cage. 

"Now," I says to my neighbor, "he's 
sho win' off. He thinks he's a doin' of it ; 
but he ain't got no idee, no plan of nothin'. 
If he'd play me a tune of some kind or 
other, I'd"— 

But my neighbor says, "Hush!" very 
impatient. 

I was just about to get up and go home, 
bein' tired of that foolishness, when I heard 
a little bird waking up away off in the 
woods, and call sleepy-like to his mate ; 
and looked up, and see that Ruby was 
beginning to take some interest in his busi- 
ness, and I sit down again. It was the 
peep of day. The light came faint from 
the east, the breezes blowed gentle and 
fresh ; some more birds waked up in the 
orchard, then some more in the trees near 
the house, and all begun singin' together. 
People began to stir, and the gal opened the 
shutters. Just then the first beam of the sun 
fell upon the blossoms a little more, and it 
teched the roses on the bushes, and the 
next thing it was broad day. The sun 
fairly -blazed, the birds sung like they'd 
split their little throats ; all the leaves was 
movin', and flashin' diamonds of dew, and 
the whole wide world was bright and happy 
as a king. Seemed to me like there was a 
good breakfast in every house in the land, 
and not a sick child or woman anywhere. 
It was a fine mornin'. 

And I says to my neighbor, "That's 
music, that is." 

But he glared at me like he'd like to cut 
my throat. 

Presently the wind turned ; it began to 
thicken up, and a kind of gray mist came 
over things. I got lowspirited directly. 
Then a silver rain began to fall. I could 

§§§ the drops touch the ground \ §ome 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



20 1 



flashed up like long pearl earrings, and the 
rest rolled away like round rubies. It was 
pretty, but melancholy. Then the pearls 
gathered themselves into long strands and 
necklaces ; and then they melted into thin 
silver streams, running between golden 
gravels ; and then the streams joined each 
other at the bottom of the hill, and made a 
brook that flowed silent, except that you 
could kinder see the music, specially when 
the bushes on the banks moved as the music 
went along down the valley. I could smell 
the flowers in the meadow. But the sun 
didn't shine, nor the birds sing ; it was a 
foggy day, but not cold. 

The most curious thing was the little 
white angle boy, like you see in pictures, 
that run ahead of the music brook, and led 
it on and on, away out of the world, where 
no man ever was, certain. I could see that 
boy just as plain as I see you. Then the 
moonlight came, without any sunset, and 
shone on the grave-yards, where some few 
ghosts lifted their hands and went over the 
wall ; and between the black, sharp-top 
trees splendid marble houses rose up, with 
fine ladies in the lit up windows, and men 
that loved 'em, but could never get a-nigh 
'em, who played on guitars under the trees, 
and made me that miserable I could have 
cried, because I wanted to love somebody, I 
don't know who, better than the men with 
the guitars did. 

Then the sun went down, it got dark, the 
wind moaned and wept like a lost child for 
its dead mother ; and I could a got up then 
and there and preached a better sermon than 
any I ever listened to. There wasn't a 
thing in the world left to live for, not a 
blame thing; and yet I didn't want the 
music to stop one bit. It was happier 
to be miserable than to be happy without 
being miserable. I couldn't understand it. 
I hung my head, and pulled out my hand- 
kerchief, and blowed my nose loud to keep 
me from cryin'. My eyes is weak, anyway. 
I didn't want anybody to be a-gazin' at me 
a-snivelin', and it's nobody's business what 
I do with my nose. It's mine. But some 
several glared at me, mad as blazes. Then, 
all of a sudden, old Rubin changed his tune. 
He ripped out and he reared, he tipped and 
he tared, he pranced arid he charged, like 



the grand entry at a circus. 'Peared to me 
that all the gas in the house was turned on 
at once, things got so bright ; and I hilt up 
my head, ready to look any man in the face, 
and not afraid of nothin'. It was a circus 
and a brass band and a big ball all a-goin' on 
at the same time. He lit into them keys 
like a thousand of brick ; he gave 'em no 
rest day or night; he set every livin' joint 
in me a-goin'; and, not bein' able to stand it 
no longer, I jumped, sprang onto my seat 
and jest holered, — 

" Go it, Rube!" 

Kvery blamed man, woman, and child in 
the house riz on me, and shouted, " Put 
him out!" " Put him out.!" 

" Put your great-grandmother's grizzly- 
gray-greenish cat into the middle of next 
month !" I says. " Tech me if you dare ! 
I paid my money, and you just come a-nigh 
me!" 

With that some several policeman run up, 
and I had to simmer down. But I could a 
fit any fool that laid hands on me ; for I was 
bound to hear Ruby out, or die. 

He had changed his tune again. He 
hop-light ladies and tip-toed fine from end 
to end of the key-board. He played soft 
and low and solemn. I heard the church 
bells over the hills. The candles of heaven 
was lit one by one. I saw the stars rise. 
The great organ of eternity began to play 
from the world's end to the world's end, 
and all the angels went to prayers . . . Then 
the music changed to water, full of feeling 
that couldn't be thought, and began to 
drop — drip, drop — drip, drop, clear and 
sweet, like tears of joy falling into a lake of 
glory. It was sweeter than that. It was 
as sweetheart sweetened with white sugar, 
mixt with powdered silver and seed dia- 
monds. It was too sweet. I tell you the 
audience cheered. Rubin he kinder bowed, 
like he wanted to say, "Much obleeged, 
but I'd rather you wouldn't interrup' me." 

He stopt a moment or two to ketch 
breath. Then he got mad. He run his 
fingers through his hair, he shoved up his 
sleeve, he opened his coat-tails a leetle 
further, he drug up his stool, he leaned over, 
and, sir, he just went for that old pianner. 
He slapt her face, he boxed her jaws, he 

pu.Uc4 her rtQse, he pinched her ears, and he 



202 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



scratched her cheeks, until she fairly yelled. 
He knockt her down, and he stamped on 
her shameful. She bellowed, she bleated 
like a calf, she howled like a hound, she 
squealed like a pig, she shrieked like a rat, 
and then he wouldn't let her up. He ran a 
quarter- stretch down the low grounds of the 
bass, till he got clean in the bowels of the 
earth, and you heard thunder galloping after 
thunder, through the hollows and caves of 
perdition ; and then he fox-chased his right 
hand with his left, till he got way out of the 
treble into the clouds, whar the notes was 
finer than the pints of cambric needles, and 
you couldn't hear nothin' but the shadders 
of 'em. And then he wouldn't let the old 
pianner go. He for'ard two'd, he crost over 
first gentleman, he chassade right and left, 
back to your places, he all hands 'd aroun', 
ladies to the right, promenade all, in and 
out, here and there, back and forth, up and 
down, perpetual motion, double-twisted and 
turned and tacked and tangled into forty- 
eleven thousand doubledow knots. 

By jinks it was a mixtery. And then he 
wouldn't let the old pianner go. He fecht 
up his right wing, he fecht up his left wing, 
he fecht up his center, he fecht up his 
reserves. He fired by file, he fired by pla- 
toons, by company, by regiments, and by 
brigades. He opened his cannon, — siege 
guns down thar, Napoleons here, twelve- 
pounders yonder; big guns, little guns, 
middle-sized guns, round shot, shell, shrap- 
nels , grape , canister, mortar, mines and maga- 
zines, — every livin' battery and bomb a-goin 
at the same time. The house trembled, the 
lights danced, the walls shuk, the floor come 
up, the ceilin' come down, the sky split, the 
ground rokt; heavens and earth, creation, 
sweet potatoes, Moses, ninepences, glory, 
ten-penny nails, Samson in a 'simmon tree, 
Tump Tompson in a tumbler-cart, roodle- 
oodle-oodle-oodle — ruddle-uddle-uddle-ud- 
dle — raddle-addle-addle- addle— riddle-iddle- 
iddle-iddle — reedle-eedle-eedle-eedle — p-r-r 
r-r-rlang! Bang ! ! ! ! lang ! per-lang ! p-r- 



r-r-r-r 



Bang ! ! ! 



The thing busted, and went off into seven- 
teen hundred and fifty-seven thousand five 
hundred and forty-two hemi-demi-semi 
quavers ; and I know'd no mo'. 

When I come to, I was under ground 
about twenty foot, in a place they call Oys- 
ter Bay, a treatin' a Yankee, that I never 
laid eyes on before, and never expect to 
again, Day was breakin' by the time I got 
to St. Nicholas Hotel, and I pledge you my 
word I did not know my name. The man 
asked me the number of my room ; and I 
told him, " Hot music on the half-shell, for 
two!" 



With that bang, he lifted himself bodily 
into the air ; and he came down with his 
knees, his ten fingers, his ten toes, his 
elbows, and his nose, striking every single, 
solitary key on the pianner at the same time. 



WHEN WE GET THERE. 

On the thirty-second day of thirteenth 

month, or the eighth day of the week, 
On the twenty-fifth hour of the sixty-first 

minute we'll find all things that we 

seek, 
They are there in the limbo of Lollipop 

land, acloud island resting in air, 
On the Nowhere side of the Mountain of 

Mist in the Valley of Overthere. 

On the Nowhere side of the Mountain of 

Mist in the Valley of Overthere, 
On a solid vapor foundation of cloud are 

palaces grand and fair ; 
And there is where our dreams will come 

true and the seeds of our hope will grow , 
On the thitherward side of the Hills of Hope 

in the hamlet of Hocus Po. 

On the thitherward side of the Hills of Hope, 

in the hamlet of Hocus Po, 
We shall see all the things that we want to 

see, and know all we care to know, 
For there the old men will never lament, 

the babies will never squeak, 
In the Cross Road Corners of Chaosville, 

in the County of Hideangoseek. 

In the Cross Road Corners of Chaosville, 

in the County of Hideangoseek.. 
On the thirty-second day of the thirteenth 

month, on the eighth day of the week, 
We shall do all the things that we please to 

do, and accomplish all we try. 
On the sunset shore of Sometimeorother, by 

the beautiful Bay of Bimeby. 

Yankee Bi,ade. 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



203 



THE OWL=CRITIC. 

The manner of the know-all-braggart should be assumed, and 
his part spoken in confident pedantic manner. 

4 i IITho stuffed that white owl ? " No 
V V one spoke in the shop ; 

The barber was busy, and he 
couldn't stop ; 
The customers, waiting their turns, were all 

reading 
The Daily, the Herald, the Post, little heed- 
ing 
The young man who blurted out such a 

blunt question ; 
Not one raised a head, or even made a 
suggestion ; 

A.nd the barber kept on shaving. 

" Don't you see, Mister Brown," 

Cried the youth, with a frown, 

" How wrong the whole thing is, 

How preposterous each wing is, 

How flattened the head is, how jammed 

down the neck is — 
In short, the whole owl, what an ignorant 

wreck 'tis ! 

' ' I make no apology ; 

I've learned owl-eology. 

I've passed days and nights in a hundred 

collections, 
And cannot be blinded to any deflections 
Arising from unskilful fingers that fail 
To stuff a bird right, from his beak to his 

tail. 
Mister Brown ! Mister Brown ! 
Do take that bird down, 
Or you'll soon be the laughing-stock all 

over town ! ' ' 

And the barber kept on shaving. 

"I've studied owls, 
And other night fowls 
And I tell you 
What I know to be true ; 
An owl cannot roost 
With his limbs so unloosed ; 
No owl in this world 
Ever had his claw curled, 
Ever had his legs slanted, 
Ever had his bill canted, 
Ever had his neck screwed 
Into that attitude. 
He can't do it, because 
'Tis against all bird laws. 
Anatomy teaches, 



Ornithology preaches, 

An owl has a toe 

That can't turn out so ! 

I'v made the white owl my study for years, 

And to see such a job almost moves me to. 
tears ! 

Mister Brown, I'm amazed 

You should be so gone crazed 

As to put up a bird 

In that posture absurd ! 

To look at that owl really brings on a dizzi- 
ness ; 

The man who stuffed him don't half know 
his business ! ' ' 

And the barber kept on shaving. 

" Examine those eyes. 

I'm filled with surprise 

Taxidermists should pass 

Off on you such poor glsss ; 

So unnatural they seem 

They'd make Audubon scream, 

And John Burroughs laugh 

To encounter such chaff. 

Do take that bird down ; 

Have him stuffed again, Brown ! " 

And the barber kept on shaving. 

' ' With some sawdust and bark 

I could stuff in the dark 

An owl better than that. 

I could make an old hat 

Look more like an owl 

Than that horrid fowl, 

Stuck up there so stiff like a side of coarse 

leather. 
In fact, about him there's not one natural 

feather." 

Just then, with a wink and a sly normal 
lurch, 

The owl, very gravely, got down from his 
perch, 

Walked round, and regarded his fault- 
finding critic 

(Who thought he was stuffed) with a glance 
analytic, 

And then fairly hooted, as if he should say: 

" Your learning's at fault this time, anyway ; 

Don't waste it again on a live bird, I pray. 

I'm an owl; you're another. Sir Critic, 
good-day ! ' ' 

And the barber kept on shaving. 
James T. Fiei*d. 



204 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



THE CASE OF GUNN vs. BARCLAY. 

To be readorrecitedin a plain homespun manner. 

A good deal of interest was felt in trie 
case of Gunn vs. Barclay, which was 
tried recently in the Odell County 
Court. It involved the question of the 
ownership of Gunn's right leg. Gunn 
related the facts of the case as follows : 

You see, one day last winter, while I was 
shoveling snow off the roof of my house, 
I slipped and fell over on the pavement 
below. When they picked me up they 
found that my right leg was fractured. Dr. 
Barclay examined it and gave it as his 
opinion that mortification would be certain 
to set in unless that leg came off. So I told 
him he ' d better chop it away . And he went 
round to his office, and presently he came 
back with a butcher knife and a cross-cut 
saw and a lot of rags. Then they chloro- 
formed me, and while I was asleep they 
removed that leg. When I came to I felt 
pretty comfortable, and the doctor, after 
writing some prescriptions, began wrapping 
my leg up in an old newspaper; then he 
tucked the bundle under his arm and began 
to move towards the door. I was watching 
him all the time and I hallooed at him : 

"Where in the mischief are you going 
with that leg of mine ? ' ' 

"I'm not going any where with that leg of 
yours," he said. " But I am going home 
with my leg." 

"Well, you'd better drop it", said I. 
" It belongs to me, and I want it for a keep- 
sake." 

And you know he faced me down about 
it, — said when a doctor sawed a man apart, 
he always took the amputated member as 
one of his perquisites ; and he said that, as 
it was his legal right to take something on 
such occasions, it was merely optional 
with him whether he took the leg, or left the 
leg and took me ; but he preferred the leg. 
And when I asked him what he wanted with 
it, anyway, he said he was going to put it in 
a glass jar, full of alcohol, and stand it in 
his office. Then I told him it shocked my 
modesty to think of a bare leg of mine being 
put on exhibition in that maner, with no 
pantaloon on ; but he said he thought he 
could stand it, 



But I protested. I said I had had that 
leg a good many years, and I felt sort of 
attached to it. I knew all its little ways. 
I would feel lonely without it. Who would 
tend to the corns that I had cared for so 
long? Who would treat the bunion with 
the proper degree of delicacy ? Who would 
rub the toes with liniment when they got 
frosted? And who would keep the shins 
from being kicked ? No one could do it as 
well as I could, because I felt an interest in 
the leg ; felt sociable and friendly, and 
acquainted with it. But Barclay said he 
thought he could attend to it, and it would 
do the corns good to be soaked in alcohol. 

And I told him I'd heard that even after 
a man lost a limb, if any one hurt that limb 
the original owner felt it, and I told Barclay 
I would not trust him not to tread on my 
toes, and stick pins in my calf, and make me 
suffer every time he had a grudge against 
me ; and he said he didn't know, maybe he 
would if I didn't use him right. 

And I wanted to know what was to hin- 
der him, if he felt like it, taking the bone 
out of the leg and making part of it up into 
knife-handles and suspender buttons, and 
working the rest up into some kind of a clar- 
ionet with finger holes punched in the sides. 
I could stand a good deal, I said, even if I 
had only one leg ; but I couldn't bear to 
think of a man going around the community 
serenading girls with tunes played on one of 
my bones — a bone, too, that I felt a good 
deal of affection for. If he couldn't touch 
a girl's heart without serenading her with 
one of my bones, why he better remain 
single. 

We blathered away for about an hour, and 
at last he said he was disgusted with so much 
bosh about a ridiculous bit of meat and 
muscle, and he wrapped the paper around 
the leg again and rushed out of the door for 
home. 

When I sued him, and the case came up 
in court, the judge instructed the jury that 
the evidence that a leg belonged to a man 
was that he had it, and as Barclay had this 
leg, the presumption was that it was his. 
But no man was ever known to have three 
legs and as Barclay thus had three the sec- 
ond presumption was that it was not his. 
But as Gunn did not have it, the law could 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



205 



not accept the theory that it was Gunn's 
leg, and consequently the law couldn't tell 
who under the sun the leg belonged to, and 
the jury would have to guess at it. So the 
jury brought in a verdict against both of us, 
and recommended that, in the uncertainty 
that existed, the leg should be buried. The 
leg was lying during the trial out in the 
vestibule of the court room, and we found 
^afterward that during the trial Bill Wood's 
dog had run off with it and that settled the 
thing. Queer, wasn't it ? 



CASEY AT THE BAT. 

This selection was made famous by DeWolf Hopper, who 
when called before the curtain between the acts of his comic 
opera performances recited it hundreds of times. 

There was ease in Casey's manner as he 
stepped into his place, 
There was pride in Casey's bearing, 
and a smile on Casey's face ; 
And when responding to the cheers he 

lightly doffed his hat s 
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas 
Casey at the bat. 

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he 

rubbed his hands with dirt, 
Five thousand tongues applauded when he 

wiped them on his shirt ; 
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the 

ball into his hip. 
Defiance glanced in Casey's eye, a sneer 

curled Casey's lip. 

And now the leather-covered sphere came 

whirling thro' the air, 
And Casey stood a-whatching it in haughty 

grandeur there ; 
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball 

unheeded sped. 
"That ain't my style,' ' said Casey, " Strike 

one," the umpire said. 

From the benches, black with people, there 

went up a muffled roar, 
Like the beating of storm waves on a stern 

and distant shore ; 
' ' Kill him ! kill the umpire ! ' ' shouted 

some one on the stand. 
And it's likely they'd have killed him had 

not Casey raised his hand. 



With a smile of Christian charity great 

Casey's visage shone, 
He stilled the rising tumult, he bade the 

game go on ; 
He signalled to the pitcher, and once more 

the spheroid flew, 
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire 

said "Strike two." 

" Fraud ! " cried the maddened thousands, 

and the echo answered, " Fraud ! " 
But the scornful look from Casey, and the 

audience was awed ; 
They saw his face grow stern and cold, 

they saw his muscles strain, 
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that 

ball go by again. 

The sneer is gone from Casey's lips, his 

teeth are clenched in hate, 
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon 

the plate ; 
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and 

now he let's it go. 
And now the air is shattered by the force 

of Casey's blow. 

Oh ! somewhere in this favored land the 
sun is shining bright, 

The band is playing somewhere and some- 
where hearts are light ; 

And somewhere men are laughing and 
somewhere children shout 

But there's no joy in Mudville — mighty 
Casey has struck out. 



"WHEN HULDY 'SPECTS HER BEAU." 

Iteli, you its mysterious 
At our house once a week — 
We know there's somethin' in the wind, 
But we don't dare to speak, 
For Sis just bosses ev'rything 

And says how it shall go. 
Oh, we all have so stan' around 
When Hnldy 'spects her beau ! 

She crimps her hair an awful lot, 

And lights the parlor fire, 
And she's so 'fraid we'll spoil her dress 

She won't let us come nigh her. 
Pa kinder chuckles to himself, 

And winks at me an' Joe ; 
But ma looks pretty serious 

When Huldy 'spects her beau. 



206 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



At supper she's " no appetite," 

But fixes up a plate 
Of apples, nuts and gingerbread - 

(She must eat awful late !) 
She does the dishes with a whew, 

And thinks the clock is slow. 
Things always have to hustle some* 

When Huldy 'spects her beau. 

She whisks us youngsters off to bed 

In strict big-sister style : 
On other evenin's we sit up 

And play for quite a while. 
And we ain't s 'posed to see nor hear, 

Nor even want to know 
A single thing- that's goin' on 

When Huldy 'spects her beau. 

But on the mornin' after that, 

She's always good as pie ; 
She helps ma with the cleanin' up, 

She fastens gran 'pa's tie, 
She gives us lots of bread and jam, 

And sings so sweet and low, 
That on the whole we're rather glad 

When Huldy 'spects her beau. 

Annie Prescott Bull 



W 



DER DRUMMER. 

German Dialect. 
ho puts oup at der pest hotel, 

Und dakes his oysders on der schell, 
Und mit der frauleins cuts a schwell ? 
Der drummer. 



Who vas it gomes indo mine schtore, 
Drows down his pundles on de vloor, 
Und nefer schtops to shut der door ? 
Der drummer. 

Who dakes me py der handt, und say, 
" Hans Pfeiffer, how you vas to-day ? " 
Und goes vor peeseness righdt avay ? 
Der drummer. 

Who shpreads his zamples in a trice, 
Und dells me, " Look, und see how nice ? " 
Und says I gets ' ' der bottom price ? ' ' 
Der drummer. 

Who dells how sheap der goods vas bought, 
Mooch less as vot I gould imbort, 
But lets dem go as he vas " short ? " 
Der drummer. 



Who says der tings vas eggstra vine, — 
" Vrom Sharmany, ubon der Rhine,"— 
Und sheats me den dimes oudt off nine ? 
Der drummer. 

Who varrants all der goots to suit 
Der gustomers ubon his route, 
Und ven day gomes dey vas no goot ? 
Der drummer. 

Who comes aroundt ven I been oudt, 
Drinks oup mine bier, and eats mine kraut 
Und kiss Katrina in der mout' ? 
Der drummer. 

Who, ven he gomes again dis vay, 
Vill hear vot Pfeiffer has to say, 
Und mit a plack eye goes avay ? 
Der drummer. 

Chas. F. Adams, 



PADDY'S REFLECTIONS ON CLEOPATRA'S 
NEEDLE. 

{Irish Dialect.) 

So that's Cleopathera's Naadle, bedad, 
An' a quare lookin' naadle it is, I'll 
be bound ; 
What a powerful muscle the queen must 
have had 
That could grasp such a weapon an' wind 
it around ! 

Imagine her sittin' there stichin' like mad 
With a naadle like that in her hand ! I 
declare 
It's as big as the Round Tower of Slane, 
an', bedad, 
It would pass for a round tower, only it's 
square ! 

The taste of her, ordherin' a naadle of 
granite ! 
Begorra, the sight of it shtrikes me quite 
dumb ! 
And look at the quare sort of figures 
upon it ; 
I wondher can these be the thracks of 
her thumb ? 

I once was astonished to hear of the faste 

Cleopathera made upon pearls ; but now 
I declare, I would not be surprised in the 
laste 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



207 



If ye told me the woman had swallowed a 
cow ! 

It's easy to see why bould Caesar should 

quail 
In her presence an' meekly submit to her 

rule ; 
Wid a weapon like that in her fist I'll go bail 
.She could frighten the soul out of big Finn 

MacCool ! 

But, L,ord, what poor pigmies the women 
are now, 
Compared with the monsthers they must 
have been then ! 
Whin the darlin's in those days would kick 
up a row, 
Holy smoke, but it must have been hot 
for the men. 

Just think how a chap that goes courtin' 
would start 
If his girl was to prod him with that in 
the shins ! 
I have often seen naadles s but bouldly 
assart 
That the naadle in front of me there 
takes the pins ! 

O sweet Cleopathera ! I'm sorry you're 
dead ; 
An' whin lavin' this wonderful naadle 
behind, 
Had ye thought of bequeathin' a spool of 
your thread 
And yer thimble an' scissors, it would 
have been kind. 

But pace to your ashes, ye plague o' great 

men, 

Yer strength is departed, yer glory is past ; 

Ye '11 never wield sceptre nor naadle again, 

And a poor little asp did yer bizness at 

last. 

CORMAC 0%KARY. 



BUCK FANSHAW'S FUNERAL. 

There was a grand time over Buck 
Fanshaw when he died. He was a 
representative citizen. On the in- 
quest it was shown that, in the delirium of 
a wasting typhoid fever he had taken 
arsenic, shot himself through the body, cut 



his throat, and jumped out of a four -story 
window and broken his neck, and, after due 
deliberation, the jury, sad and tearful, but 
with intelligence unblinded by its sorrow, 
brought in a verdict of ' ' death by the visita- 
tion Oj Providence." What could the world 
do without juries ! 

Prodigious preparations were made for 
the funeral. All the vehicles in town were 
hired, all the saloons were put in mourning, 
all the municipal fire company flags were 
hung at half-mast and all the firemen 
ordered to muster in uniform, and bring 
their machines duly draped in black. 

Regretful resolutions were passed and 
various committees appointed ; among 
others, a committee of one was deputed to 
call on the minister — a fragile, gentle, 
spiritual new fledgling from an eastern theo- 
logical seminary, and as yet unacquainted 
with the ways of the mines. The commit- 
teeman, " Scotty ' v Briggs, made his visit. 

Being admitted to his presence , he sat down 
before the clergyman, placed his fire-hat on 
an unfinished manuscript sermon under the 
minister's nose, took from it a red silk 
handkerchief, wiped his brow, and heaved 
a sigh of dismal impressiveness, explanatory 
of business. He choked and even shed 
tears, but with an effort he mastered his 
voice, and said, in lugubrious tones : 

" Are you the duck that runs the gospel- 
mill next door ? 

" Am I the — pardon me, I believe I do 
not understand." 

With another sigh and a half sob, Scotty 
rejoined : 

' ' Why you see we are in a bit of trouble, 
and the boys thought maybe you'd give us 
a lift, if we'd tackle you, that is, if I've got 
the rights of it, and you're the head clerk of 
the doxology works next door." 

' ' I am the shepherd in charge of the flock 
whose fold is next door." 

"The which!" 

' ' The spiritual adviser of the little com- 
pany of believers whose sanctuary adjoins 
these premises." 

Scotty scratched his head, reflected a 
moment, and then said : 

" You ruther hold over me, pard. I 
reckon I can't call that card. Ante and 
pass the buck." 



208 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



* ' How ? I beg your pardon . What did 
I understand you to say ? 

"Well, you've ruther got the bulge on 
me. Or maybe we've both got the bulge, 
somehow, You don't smoke me and I 
don't smoke you. You see one of the boys 
has passed in his checks, and we want to 
give him a good send off, and so the thing 
I'm on now is to roust out somebody to jerk 
a little chin-music for us, and waltz him 
through handsome." 

"My friend, I seem to grow more and 
more bewildered. Your observations are 
wholly incomprehensible to me. Can you 
not simplify them some way ? At first I 
thought perhaps I understood you, but I 
grope now. Would it not expedite matters if 
you restricted yourself to the categorical 
statements of fact unincumbered with ob- 
structing accumulations of metaphor and 
allegory ? 

Another pause and more reflection. 
Then Scotty said: "I'll have to pass, I 
judge." 

"How?" 

" You've raised me out, pard. " 

" I still fail to catch your meaning." 

" Why, that last lead of your'n is too 
many for me — that's the idea. I can't 
neither trump nor follow suit." 

The clergyman sank back in his chair 
perplexed. Scotty leaned his head on his 
hand, and gave himself up to reflection . 
Presently his face came up, sorrowful, but 
confident. 

" I've got it now, so's you can savvy," 
said he, " What we wan't is a gospel-sharp. 
See?" 

"A what?" 

" Gospel-sharp. Parson." 

" Oh ! Why did you not say so before ? 
I am a clergyman — a parson. " 

" Now you talk ! You see my blind, and 
straddle it like a man. Put it there ! " — 
extending a brawny paw, which closed over 
the minister's small hand and gave it a 
shake indicative of fraternal sympathy and 
fervent gratification. 

;< Take him all round, pard, there never 
was a bullier man in the mines. No man 
ever know'd Buck Fanshaw to go back on 
a friend. But it's all up, you know ; 



it's all up. It ain't no use. They've 
scooped him ! " 

' ' Scooped him ? ' ' 

" Yes — death has. Well, well, well, 
we've got to give him up. Yes, indeed. 
It's a kind of a hard world after all, ain't 
it ? But, pard, he was a rustler. You 
ought to see him get started once. He was 
a bully boy with a glass eye! Just spit 
in his face, and give him room according 
to his strength, and it was just beautiful to 
see him peel and go in. He was the worst 
son of a thief that ever draw'd breath. 
Pard, he was on it. He was on it bigger 
than an injun. 

"On it? On what?" 

"On the shoot. On the shoulder. On 
the fight. Understand? He didn't give a 
continental — for anyho&y. Beg your par- 
don, friend, for coming so near saying a 
cuss word — but you see I'm ou an awful 
strain in this palaver, on account of having 
to cramp down and draw everything so mild. 
But we've got to give him up. There ain't 
any getting around that, I don't reckon. 
Now if we can get you to help plant 
him—" 

' ' Preach the funeral discourse ? Assist 
at the obsequies ? ' ' 

" Obs'quies is good. Yes. That's it; 
that's our little game. We are going to get 
up the thing regardless, you know. He was 
always nifty himself, and so you bet you his 
funeral ain't going to be no slouch ; solid 
silver door-plate on his coffin, six plumes 
on the hearse, and a nigger on the box, 
with a biled shirt and a plug hat on — how's 
that for high? And we'll take care of you, 
pard. We'll fix you all right. There will 
be a kerridge for you ; and whatever you 
want you just 'scape out, and we'll tend to 
it. We've got a shebang fixed up for you 
to stand behind in No. i's house, and don't 
you be afraid. Just go in and toot your 
horn, if you don't sell a clam. Put Buck 
through as bully as you can, pard, for any- 
body that know'd him will tell you that he 
was one of the whitest men that was ever in 
the mines. You can't draw it too strong 
to do him justice. Here once when the 
Micks got to throwing stones through the 
Methodist Sunday school windows, Buck 
Fanshaw, all of his own notion, shut up 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



209 



his saloon, and took a couple of six- 
shooters and mounted guard over the Sun- 
day school. Says he, ' No Irish need 
appV-' And they didn't. He was the 
bullies t man in the mountains, pard ; he 
could run faster, jump higher, hit harder, 
and hold more tangle-foot whiskey with- 
out spilling it than any man in seventeen 
counties. — Put that in, pard ; it'll please the 
boys more than anything you could say. 
And you can say, pard, that he never shook 
his mother." 

' * Never shook his mother ? ' ' 
" That's it — any of the boys will tell you 
so." 

" Well, but why should he shake her? " 
"That's what I say — but boine people 
does." 

' ' Not people of any repute ? ' ' 
" Well, some that averages pretty so-so." 
' ' In my opinion a man that would offer 
personal violence to his mother, ought 
to—" 

" Cheese it, pard; you've banked your 
ball clean outside the string. What I was 
a-drivin' at was that he never throwed off 
on his mother — -don't you see ? No indeedy ! 
He give her a house to live in, and town 
lots, and plenty of money; and he looked 
after her and took care of her all the time ; 
and when she was down with the small-pox, 
I'm cuss'd if he didn't set up nights and 
nuss her himself! Beg your pardon for 
saying it, but it hopped out too quick for 
yours truly. You've treated me like a 
gentleman, and I ain't the man to hurt your 
feelings intentional. I think you're white. 
I think you're a square man, pard. I like 
you, and I'll lick any man that don't. I'll 
lick him till he can't tell himself from a last 
year's corpse. Put it there ! " 

[Another fraternal handshake — and exit.] 
S. Iy. CivKMKNS. 



EEDLE YAWCOB STRAUSS. 

German Dialect. 

IHAF von funny leedle poy, 
Vot gomes schust to mine knee ; 
Der queerest schap, der createst rogue, 
As efer you did see. 
He runs, und schumps, und schmashes 
dings 
13 



In all barts off der house : 
But vot off dot ? he vas mine son, 
Mine leedle Yawcob Strauss. 

He get der measles und der mumbs, 

Und eferyding dot's oudt ; 
He sbills mine glass off lager bier, 

Poots schnuffinto mine kraut. 
He fills mine pipe mit Limburg cheese, — 

Dot was der roughest chouse : 
I'd dake dot vrom no oder poy 

But leedle Yawcob Strauss. 

He dakes der milk-ban for a dhrum, 

Und cuts mine cane in dwo, 
To make der schticks to beat it mit,— 

Mine cracious, dot vas drue ! 
I dinks mine hed vas schplit abart, 

He kicks oup sooch a touse : 
But nefer mind ; der poys vas few 

Like dot young Yawcob Strauss. 

He asks me questions such as dese : 

Who baints mine nose so red ? 
Who vas it cut dot schmoodth blace oudt 

Vrom der hair ubon mine hed ? 
Und vhere der plaze goes vrom der lamp 

Vene'er der glim I douse. 
How gan I all dose dings eggsblain 

To dot schmall Yawcob Strauss ? 

I somedimes dink I schall go vild 

Mit sooch a grazy poy, 
Und vish vonce more I gould haf rest, 

Und beaceful dimes enshoy ; 
But ven he was ashleep in bed, 

So guiet as a mouse, 
I prays der Lord, " Dake anyding, 

But leaf dot Yawcob Strauss." 

Chas. F. Adams- 



HANS AND FRITZ. 

German Dialect. 

Hans and Fritz were two Deutschers who 
lived side by side, 
Remote from the world, its deceit 
and it? pride : 
With their pretzels and beer the spare 

moments were spent, 
And the fruits of their labor were peace 
and content. 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



Hans purchased a horse of a neighbor one Paddy prayed hard he would make no 



delay, 
But forgive him his sins and make haste 

for to bless him. 
"First tell me your sins," says Father 

Molloy, 
" For I'm thinking you've not been a very 

good boy." 

" Oh," says Paddy, " so late in the evenin' 

I fear 
'Twould trouble you such a long story to 

hear, 
For you've ten long miles o'er the mount- 
ain to go, 
I Hans, gets from Fritz feefty tollars While the road /'^ to travel's much longer, 
to-day ; . 7°* ^ now '• 1 . , 

When the question arose, the note being So § lve ]» y° nr blessm and £ et m the 

made saddle ; 

"Vich von holds dot baper until it vas To tel1 a11 m ^ sins my poor brain would 
baid?" 



day, 
And, lacking a part of the Geld, — as they 

say, — 
Made a call upon Fritz to solicit a loan 
To help him to pay for his beautiful roan. 

Fritz kindly consented the money to lend, 
And gave the required amount to his 

friend ; 
Remarking — his own simple language to 

quote — 
' ' Berhaps it vas bedder ve make us a note. ' ' 

The note was drawn up in their primitive 
wa}^ 



addle ; 



"You geeps dot," says Fritz, "und den And the docthor gave orthers to keep me so 

you vill know quiet — 

You owes me dot money." Says Hans, 'Twould disturb me to tell all my sins, if I'd 

' ' Dot ish so : thry it- 

Dot makes me remempers I haf dot to bay, And your Reverence has towld us unless we 
Und I prings you der note und der money tell all 

someday." 'Tis worse than not making' confession 

at all : 
A month had expired, when Hans, as So rn say , in a word, I'm no very good 

agreed, boy, 

Paid back the amount, and from debt he And therefore your blessin', sweet Father 

Molloy." 



was freed, 
Says Fritz, "Now dot settles us." Hans 

replies, " Yaw : 
Now who dakes dot baper accord ings by 

law ? ' 



"Well, I'll read from a book," says 

Father Molloy, 
"The manifold sins that humanity's 

I geeps dot now, aind't it ? " says Fritz; . , - ' , ,, ,, . 

& . . / ' J ' And when you hear those that your con- 

' ' r\ ^n iron ce±f* J J 



den you see, 
1 alvays remempers you paid dot to me." 
Says Hans, " Dot ish so : it was now shust 
so blain, 



science annoy, 
You'll just squeeze my hand, as ac- 
knowledging thereto." 



-r. , T ! ' , . , T Then the Father began the dark roll of 

Dot I knows vot to do ven I porrows . . & 

iniquity, 

And Paddy, thereat, felt his conscience 

grow rickety, 



again. 



Charles F. Adams. 



And he gave such a squeeze that the priest 

gave a roar. 
"Oh, murther," says Paddy, " don't read 
any more ; 
And Father Molloy he came to confess For if you keep readin', by all that is 
him ; thrue, 



THE DYING CONFESSION OF PADDY 
McCABE. 

Irish Dialect. 
T)addy McCabe was dying one day 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



211 



Your Reverence's fist will be soon black and 

blue ; 
Besides, to be troubled my conscience 

begins, 
That your Reverence should have any hand 

in my sins. 

$o you'd better suppose I committed them 
all— 

For whether they're great ones, or whether 
they're small, 

Or if they're a dozen, or if they're four- 
score, 

'Tis your Reverence knows how to absolve 
them, asthore. 

So I'll say, in a word, I'm no very good boy, 

And therefore your blessin', sweet Father 
Molloy." 

" Well," says Father Molloy, " your sins I 

forgive, 
So you must forgive all your enemies 

truly, 
And promise me also that, if you should 

live, 
You'll leave off your old tricks, and 

begin to live newly." 
"I forgive ev'rybody," says Pat, with a 

groan, 
' ' Except that big vagabone, Micky Malone; 

And him I will murdher if ever I can — " 
' ' Tut, tut ! ' ' says the priest, ' ' you're a very 

bad man ; 
For without your forgiveness, and also 

repentance, 
You'll ne'er go to heaven, and that is my 

sentence." 
"Pooh!" says Paddy McCabe, "that's a 

very hard case, 
With your Reverence in heaven I'm content 

to make peace ; 
But with heaven and your Reverence I 

wonder — och hone, 
You would think of comparin' that black- 
guard Malone. 
But since I'm hard pressed, and that I must 

forgive, 
I forgive — if I die ; but as sure as I live 
That ugly blackguard I will surely de- 

sthroy ! — 
So now for your blessin', sweet Father 

Molloy!" 

Samuel Lover. 



MOLLIE'S LITTLE RAH. 

Parody on " Mary's Little Lamb." 

MOLEiE had a little ram as black as a 
rubber shoe, and everywhere that 
Mollie went he emigrated too. 

He went with her to church one day — the 
folks hilarious grew, to see him walk 
demurely into Deacon Allen's pew. 

The worthy deacon quickly let his angry 
passions rise, and gave it an un-Christian 
kick between the sad brown eyes. 

This landed rammy in the aisle ; the dea- 
con followed fast, and raised his foot again ; 
alas ! that first kick was his last. 

For Mr. Sheep walked slowly back, about 
a rod 'tis said, and ere the deacon could 
retreat, it stood him on his head. 

The congregation then arose, and went 
for that ere sheep. Several well directed 
butts just piled them in a heap. 

Then rushed they all straight for the door 
with curses long and loud, while rammy 
struck the hindmost man, and shoved him 
through the crowd. 

The minister had often heard that kind- 
ness would subdue the fiercest beast. 
"Aha!" he said, I'll try that game on 
you." 

And so he gently, kindly called : "Come 
Rammy, Rammy, Ram ; to see the folks 
abuse you so, I grieved and sorry am ! " 

With kind and gentle words he came from 
that tall pulpit down, saying, "Rammy, 
Rammy, Ram — best sheep in the town." 

The ram quite dropped hishumble air, 
and rose from off his feet, ana/tne parson 
lit, he was beneath the hindmosxSeat. 

As he shot out the door, and closed it 
with a slam, he named a California town. 
I think 'twas Yuba- Dam. 



HANIFEST DESTINY. 

Manifest destiny iz the science ov going 
tew bust, or enny other place before 
yu git thare. I may be rong in this 
centiment, but that iz the way it strikes me ; 
and i am so put together that when enny 
thing strikes me i immejiately strike back. 
Manifest destiny mite perhaps be blocked 
out agin as the condishun that man and 
things find themselfs in witn a ring in their 
nozes and sumboddy hold ov the ring. I 



212 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



may be rong agin, but if i am, awl i have 
got tew sa iz, i don't kno it, and what a 
man don't kno ain't no damage tew enny 
boddy else. The tru way that manifess 
destiny had better be sot down iz, the exact 
distance that a frog kan jump down hill 
with a striped snake after him ; i don't kno 
but i may be rong onst more, but if the 
frog don't git ketched the destiny iz jist 
what he iz a looking for. 

When a man falls into the bottom ov a 
well and makes up hiz minde tew stay thar, 
that ain't manifess destiny enny more than 
having yure hair cut short iz ; but if he 
almoste gits out and then falls down in agin 
sixteen foot deeper and brakes off hiz neck 
twice in the same plase and dies and iz 
buried thare at low water, that iz manifess 
destiny on the square. Standing behind a 
cow in fly time and gitting kicked twice at 
one time, must feel a good deal like mani- 
fess destiny. Being about ten seckunds tew 
late tew git an express train, and then 
chasing the train with yure wife, and an 
umbreller in yure hands, in a hot day, and 
not getting az near tew the train az you 
waz when started, looks a leetle like mani- 
fess destiny on a rale rode trak. Going 
into a tempranse house and calling for a 
little old Bourbon on ice, and being told in 
a mild way that "the Bourbon iz jist out, 
but they hav got sum gin that cost seventy - 
two cents a gallon in Paris," sounds tew 
me like the manifess destiny ov moste 
tempranse houses. 

Mi dear hearers, don't beleave in manifess 
destiny until you see it. Thar is such a 
thing az manifess destiny, but when it 
occurs it iz like the number ov rings on the 
rakoon's tale, ov no great consequense only 
for ornament. Manifess destiny iz a dis- 
seaze, but it iz eazy tew heal ; i have seen 
it in its wust stages cured bi sawing a cord 
ov dri hickory wood. I thought i had it 
onse, it broke out in the shape ov poetry ; 
i sent a speciment ov the disseaze tew a 
magazine, the magazine man wrote me next 
day az follers, 

" Dear Sir : Yu may be a phule, but you 
are no poeck. Yures, in haste. 

theEdetur." 

Josh Billings, 



THE COMET. 

Among professors of astronomy, 
Adepts in the celestial economy, 
The name of Herschel's very often 
cited ; 
And justly so, for he is hand in glove 
With every bright intelligence above, 
Indeed, it was his custom so to stop, 
Watching the stars, upon the house's top ; 
That once upon a time he got benighted . 

In his observatory thus coquetting 

With Venus or with Juno gone astray, 
All sublunary matters quite forgetting 
In his flirtations with the winking stars, 
Acting the spy, it might be, upon Mars, — 

A new Andre ; 
Or, like a Tom of Coventry, sly peeping 
At Dian sleeping ; 
Or ogling through his glass 
Some heavenly lass, 
Tripping with pails along the Milky way ; 

Or looking at that wain of Charles, the 
Martyr's. 

Thus was he sitting, watchman of the sky, 
When lo ! a something with a tail of flame 
Made him exclaim, 

My stars ! ' ' — he always puts that stress 
on my, — 

' ' My stars and garters ! 

" A comet, sure as I'm alive ! 

A noble one as I should wish to view ; 

It can't be Halley's though, that is not 
due 
Till eighteen thirty-five. 
Magnificent ! How fine his fiery trail ! 

Zounds ! 'tis a pity, though, he comes 
unsought, 

Unasked, unreckoned, — in no human 
thought ; 

He ought — he ought — he ought 

To have been caught 
With scientific salt upon his tail. 
" I looked no more for it, I do declare, 
Than the Great Bear ! 

As sure as Tycho Brahe is dead, 

It really entered in my head 
No more than Berenice's hair ! " 
Thus musing, heaven's grand inquisitor 
Sat gazing on the uninvited visitor, 
Till John, the serving man, came to the 
upper 



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HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



215 



Regions, with " Please your honor, come 
to supper." 

1 'Supper! good John, to-night I shall not 

sup, 
Except on that phenomenon — look up . " 
"Not sup!" cried John, thinking with 

consternation 
That supping on a star must be star-vation, 
Or even to batten 
On ignes fatui would never fatten. 
His visage seemed to say, ' ' that very odd is, " 
But still his master the same tune ran on, 
"I can't come down; go to the parlor, 
John, 
And say I'm supping with the heavenly 
bodies." 

' ' The heavenly bodies ! ' ' echoed John, 
' ' ahem ! ' ' 
His mind still full of famishing alarms, 
" Zounds ! if your honor sups with them, 
In helping, somebody must make long 
arms." 
He thought his master's stomach was in 
danger, 
But still in the same tone replied the 

knight, 
' ' Go down, John, go, I have no appetite ; 
Say I'm engaged with a celestial stranger." 
Quoth John, not much au fait in such 

affairs, 
" Wouldn't the stranger take a bit down 
stairs ? ' ' 

"No," said the master, smiling, and no 

wonder, 
At such a blunder, 
' ' The stranger is not quite the thing you 

think ; 
He wants no meat or drink ; 
And one may doubt quite reasonably whether 

He has a mouth, 
Seeing his head and tail are joined together. 

Behold him ! there he is, John, in the 
south." 
John looked up with his portentous eyes, 

Each rolling like a marble in its socket; 
At last the fiery tadpole spies, 
And, full of Vauxhall reminiscence, cries, 

1 ' A rare good rocket ! ' ' 

" A what ? A rocket, John ! Far from it ! 
What you behold, John, is a comet ; 



One of those most eccentric things 
That in all ages 
Have puzzled sages 
And frightened kings ; 

With fear of change, that flaming meteor, 
John, 
Perplexes sovereigns throughout its 
range." 
' ' Do he ? " cried John ; 
" Well, let him flare on, 

/ haven't got no sovereigns to change ! " 
Thomas Hood. 



OL' PICKETT'S NELL. 

This poem should be recited by a young man dressed in the 
roughest kind of farmer's clothing. He should manage to convey 
to his audience through a very awkward exterior an air of deep 

sincerity 

FEKD more 'an ever like a fool 
Sence Pickett's Nell come back from 
school, 
She oncet wuz twelve 'nd me eighteen 
('Nd better friends you never seen) ; 

But now — oh, my ! 
She's dressed so fine, 'nd growed so tall, 
'Nd l'arnin' — she jes knows it all, 
She's eighteen now, but I'm so slow 
I'm whar I wuz six year ago. 

Six year ! Waal, waal ! doan't seem a 

week 
Sence we rode Dolly to th' creek, 
'Nd fetched th' cattle home at night, 
Her hangin' to my jacket tight. 

But now — oh, my ! 
She rides in Pickett's new coopay 
Jes like she'd be'n brung up thet way, 
'Nd lookin' like a reg'lar queen — 
Th' mostest like /ever seen. 

She uster tease 'nd tease 'nd tease 
Me fer to take her on my knees ; 
Then tired me out 'ith Marge 'y Daw, 
'Nd lafhn tell my throat wuz raw. 

But now — oh, my ! 
She sets up this way — kinder proud, 
'Nd never noways laughs out loud. 
You w'u'dn't hardly think thet she 
Hed ever see-sawed on my knee. 

'Nd sometimes, ef at noon I'd choose 
To find a shady place 'nd snooze, 
I'd wake with burdocks in my hair 



2l6 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



'Nd elderberries in my ear. 

But now — oh, my ! 
Somebody said ('twuz yesterday) : 
" Let's hev some fun w'ile Ned's away ; 
Let's turn his jacket inside out ! ' ' 
But Nell — she'd jes turn red 'nd pout. 

'Nd oncet when I wuz dreamin'-like, 
A-throwin' akerns in th' dike, 
She put her arms clean round my head, 
'Nd whispered soft, " I like you, Ned ;" 

But now — oh, my ! 
She curteseyed so stiff 'nd grand, 
'Nd never oncet held out her hand, 
'Nd called me " Mister Edward !" Laws ! 
Thet ain't my name 'nd never wuz. 

'Nd them 'at knowed 'er years ago 
Jes laughed to see 'er put on so ; 
Coz it wuz often talked, 'nd said 
" Nell Pickett's jes cut out fer Ned." 

But now — oh, my ! 
She held her purty hed so high, 
'Nd skasely saw me goin' by — 
I wu'd'nt dast (afore last night) 
A-purposely come near her sight. 

Last night ! — Bz I wuz startin' out 
To git th' cows, I heerd a shout ; 
'Nd sure ez ghostses, she wuz thar, 
A-settin' on ol' Pickett's mar' ; 

'Nd then — oh, my ! 
She said she'd cried fer all th' week 
To take th' ol' ride to th' creek ; 
Then talked about ol' times, 'nd said, 
" Them days wuz happy, wa'nt they, Ned ?" 

Th' folks wuz talkin' ev'rywhars 
'Bout her a-puttin' on sech airs, 
'Nd seemed t' me like they wuz right, 
A-fore th' cows come home last night. 
But now. — oh, myl 

Mather Dean Kimbaee. 



ADMIRAL VON D1EDERICHS. 

German Dialect. 

During the Spanish American war while Admiral, then Com- 
modore, Dewey was blockading the city of Manila, the German 
Admiral, von Diederichs, on more than one occasion manifested 
ar.ts of discourtesy and threatened hostility. Finally Dewey sent 
him a peremtory message, warning against further manifestations 
of an unfriendly character and closing with the sentence : " If you 
want a fight you can get it in five minutes." The following 
admonitory lines wee inspired by the event : 



I'll tell you vot to do ; 
Sail from dem Philypeanuts isles 

A thousand miles aboud — 
Fer dot Dewey man vill got you 

Uf you doan'd vatch ouid ! 

Ach, Admiral von Diederichs, 

Der Kaiser was a peach, 
I'm villing to atmit id, bud 

Dare's udders on der beach. 
So, darefore, dot's der reason vy, 

Doan'd let your head get stoud, 
Fer dot Dewey man vill got you 

Uf you doan'd vatch ouid ! 

Ach, Admiral von Diederichs, 

Vot pitzness haf you got 
In loafing py Manila ven 

Der heat-vaves are so hot ? 
Vy doan'd you yust oxcoos yourself 

Und durn your shibs aboud — 
Fer dot Dewey man vill got you 

Uf you doan'd vatch ouid ! 

Ach, Admiral von Diederichs, 

Vy vill you be a clams ? 
Go ged some udder islands vich 

Are not old Uncle Sam's, 
Yust wrote to Kaiser Wilhelm, yet, 

Und dell him dare's no douid, 
Fer dot Dewey man vill got you 

Uf you doan'd vatch ouid ! 

G. V. Hobart. 



A 



ch, Admiral von Diederichs, 
I van to sbeak mit you ; 

Yust lisden fer a leedle und 



AN APOSTROPHE TO AGUINALDO. 

The author of the following lines was one of the many who 
warned Aguinaldo of the futility of his resistance to the United 
States. This selection may easily be converted into an amusing 
scene by having the reciter dressedas a U. S. soldier to the Philip- 
pines and another much smaller painted brown and dressed to 
represent Aguinaldo. The speaker should be very positive and 
sarcastic in his tone and Aguinaldo appear stolidly indifferent. 

Say, Aguinaldo, 
You little measly 
Malay moke, 
What's the matter with you ? 
Don't you know enough 
To know 

That when you don't see 
Freedom, 
Inalienable rights, 
The American Eagle, 
The Fourth of July, 
The Star Spangled Banner, 
And the Palladium of your Liberties, 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



217 



All you've got to do is to ask for them ? 

Are you a natural born chump 

Or did you catch it from the Spaniards ? 

You ain't bigger 

Than a piece of soap 

After a day's washing 

But, by gravy, you 

Seem to think 

You're a bigger man 

Than Uncle Sam. 

You ought to be shrunk 

Young fellow ; 

And if you don't 

Demalayize yourself 

At an early date, 

And catch on 

To your golden, glorious opportunities, 

Something's going to happen to you 

L,ike a Himalaya 

Sitting down kerswot 

On a gnat. 

If you ain't 

A yellow dog 

You'll take in your sign 

And scatter 

Some Red, White and Blue 

Disinfectant 

Over yourself. 

What you need, Aggie, 

Is civilizing. 

And goldarn 

Your yallerpercoon-skin, 

We'll civilize you 

Dead or alive. 

You'd better 

Fall into the 

Procession of Progress 

And go marching on to glory, 

Before you fall 

Into a hole in the ground. 

Understand ? 

That's us— 

U.S. 



THE DRUMMER. 

Amusing reading when Drummers are present. Read in a 
plain deliberate style. 

THE drummer inhabits railroad trains. 
He is always at home on the cars. 
He is usually swung to a satchel con- 
taining a comb and brush, another shirt, a 
clean celluloid collar and a pair of cuffs ; 



also a railroad guide, and a newspaper 
wrapped around a suspicious-looking bottle. 
That is about all the personal baggage he 
carries, except a " Seaside library " novel 
and a pocket-knife with a corkscrew at the 
back of it. He has a two-story, iron-bound 
trunk, containing " sambles of dem goots," 
which he checks through to the next town. 
He always travels for a first-class house — 
the largest firm in their line of business in 
the United States, a firm that sells more 
goods, and sells them cheaper, than any two 
houses in the country. He is very modest 
about stating these facts, and blushes when 
he makes the statement ; but he makes it, 
nevertheless, probably as a matter of duty. 

He can talk on any subject, although he 
may not know much about it, but what 
little he knows he knows, and he lets you 
know that he knows it. He may be giving 
his views on the financial policy of the Brit- 
ish government, or he may only be telling 
you of what, in his opinion, is good for a 
boil, but he will do it with an air and a tone 
that leaves the matter beyond dispute. 

When the drummer gets into a railroad 
train, if alone, he occupies only two seats. 
One he sits on, and on the other he piles up 
his baggage and overcoat and tries to look 
as if they didn't belong to him, but to 
another man who has just stepped into the 
smoking-car and would be back directly. 

Drummers are usually found in pairs or 
quartettes on the cars. They sit together in 
a double seat, with a valise on end between 
them, on which they play euchre and other 
sinful games. When they get tired of play- 
ing they go into the smoking-car, where the 
man who is traveling for a distillery ' ' sets 
'em up " out of his sample-case, and for an 
hour or two they swop lies about the big 
bills of goods they have sold in the last town 
they were in, tell highly-seasoned stories 
about their personal adventures and exhibit 
to each other the photograph of the last girl 
they made impressions on. 

While the drummer is not ostentatiously 
bashful, neither does he assume any out- 
ward show of religion. His great love of 
truth is, however, one of his strong points, 
and he is never known to go beyond actual 
facts, except in the matter of excessive bag- 
gage. 



218 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



The drummer always gets the best room 
in the hotel. He is the most popular man 
with the waiters in the dining room though 
he finds most fault with them. He flirts 
with the chamber maids, teases the boot 
blacks and shows an utterely sublime con- 
tempt for the regnlar boarders. He goes 
to bed at a late hour, and sleeps so soundly 
that the porter wakes up the people for two 
blocks around and shakes the plaster off the 
wall in trying to communicate to him the 
fact that the 'bus for the 4.20 a. m. train 
will start in ten minutes. 

The drummer has much to worry and fret 
him. Traveling at night to save time, 
sleeping in a baggage-car or the caboose of 
a freight train, with nothing but his ear for 
a pillow, bumping over rough roads on 
stages and buck-boards, living on corn- 
bread and coffee dinners in cross-road 
hotels, yet under all these vexatious cir- 
cumstances he is usually good-humored and 
in the best of spirits, although he sometimes 
expresses his feelings regarding the discom- 
forts of travel, and the toughness of a beef- 
steak, or the solidity of a biscuit, in language 
that one would never think of attributing to 
the author of Watts' hymns. 

All kinds of improbable stories are told 
about drummers, some of them being almost 
as improbable as the stories they themselves 
tell. For instance, we once heard that a 
man saw a drummer in the piny woods of 
North Carolina camping out under an um- 
brella . 

' ' What are you doing here ? ' ' 

1 ' I am camping and living on spruce- 
gum to save expenses," replied the drum- 
mer. 

' ' What are you doing that for ? ' ' 

" To bring up the average." 

It seems that the firm allowed him a cer- 
tain sum per day for expenses, and by riot- 
ous living he had gone far beyond his daily 
allowance. By camping out under an um- 
brella and living on spruce-gum for a few 
days the expense would be so small as to 
offset the previous excess he had been 
guilty of. This story is probably a fabri- 
cation. 

The chief end and aim of the drummer is 
to sell goods, tell anecdotes and circulate 
the latest fashionable slang phrase. If he 



understands his business, the country mer- 
chant may as well capitulate at once. There 
is no hope too forlorn, nor any country 
merchant too surly or taciturn for the drum- 
mer to tackle. A merchant not long ago 
loaded up a double-barreled shotgun with 
nails, with the intention of vaccinating the 
first drummer who entered his store. The 
commercial emissary has been talking to 
him only fifteen minutes. In that time he 
has told the old man four good jokes, paid 
him five compliments on his business and 
shrewdness, propounded two conundrums 
and came very near telling the truth once. 
As a result, the sanguinary old man is in 
excellent humor, and just about to make 
out an order for $500 worth of goods that 
he doesn't actually need, and then will go 
out and take a drink with the drummer. 

The drummer is the growth of this fast 
age. Without him the car of commerce 
would creak slowly along. 

He is an energetic and genial cuss, and 
we hope that he will appreciate this notice 
and the fact that we have suppressed an 
almost uncontrollable impulse to say some- 
thing about his cheek. 

' ' Texas Siftings . ' ' 



THEN AG'IN— 

Droll reflections. To be spoken in a countryman's philoso- 
phic, meditative way. The speaker might have a stick in his 
hand and whittle it with a knife, pausing as if in deep reflection 
before beginning the last four lines in each stanza. 

Jim Bowker, he said ef he'd had a fair 
show, 
And a big enough town for his talents 
to grow, 
And the least bit of assistance in hoin' his 
row, 

Jim Bowker, he said, 
He'd fill the world full of the sound of his 

name, 
An' clime the top round in the ladder of 
fame. 

It may have been so ; 

I dunno : 
Jest so, it might a-been ! 
Then ag'in 

But he had dreadful luck ; every thin' went 

ag'in him, 
The arrers ef fortune, they alius 'ud pin 

him ; 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



219 



So he didn't get a chance to show what was 
in him. 

Jim Bowker, he said, 
Ef he'd had a fair show, you couldn't tell 

where he'd come, 
An' the feats he'd a-done, and the heights 
he'd a — dumb. 

It may have been so, 

I dunno : 
Jest so, it might a-been ; 
Then ag'in 

But we're all like Jim Bowker, thinks I, 

more or less, 
Charge fate for our bad luck, ourselves for 

success, 
An' give fortune the blame for all our dis- 
tress. 

As Jim Bowker, he said, 
Kf it hadn't been for luck and misfortune 

and sich, 
We might a-been famous, and might a-been 
rich. 

It might be jest so ; 

I dunno , 
Jest so, it might a-been ; 
Then ag'in 



riARC ANTHONY'S ORIGINAL ORATION. 

A burlesque parody on Shakespeare. The speaker should 
assume the solemn style of Marc Anthonyin his funeral oration, 

Friends, Romans, countrymen ! Lend 
me your ears ; — 
I will return them next Saturday, I come 
To bury Caesar, — because the times are 

hard, 
And his folks can't afford to hire an under- 
taker. 
The evil that men do lives after them, — - 
In the shape of progeny who reap the 
Benefit of their life insurance, — 
So let it be with the deceased. 
Brutus hath told you Caesar was ambitious. 
What does Brutus know about it ? 
It is none of his funeral. Would that it 

were ! 
Here under leave of you I come to 
Make a speech at Caesar's funeral. 
He was my friend, faithful and just tome, — 
He loaned me $5 once when I was in a pinch, 
And signed my petition for a post-office, — 



But Brutus says he was ambitious. 

Brutus should wipe off his chin. 

Caesar hath brought many captives home to 

Rome, — 
Who broke rocks on the streets until their 

ransoms 
Did the general coffers fill. 
When that the poor hath cried, Caesar hath 

wept — 
Because it didn't cost anything and 
Made him solid with the masses. 
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff ; 
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious. 
Brutus is a liar, and I can prove it. 
You all did see that on the Lupercal 
I thrice presented him a kingly crown , 
Which he did thrice refuse, because it did 

not fit him quite. 
Was this ambition ? Yet Brutus says he 

was ambitious. 
Brutus is not only the biggest liar in the 

country, 
But he is a horse thief of the deepest dye. 
If you have any tears, prepare to shed them 

now. 
You all do know this ulster. 
I remember the first time Caesar put it on ; 
It was on a summer evening in his tent, 
With the thermometer registering 90 in the 

shade 
But it was an ulster to be proud of, 
And cost him $7 at Marcaius Swartzmeyer's 
Corner of Broad and Ferry streets, sign of 

the red flag. 
Old Swartz wanted $40 for it, 
But finally came down to $7 , because it was 

Caesar. 
Was this ambitious ? If Brutus says it was 
He is a greater liar — than any one present. 
Look ! in this place ran Cassius' dagger 

through, 
Through this the son of a gun of a Brutus 

stabbed, 
And when he plucked his cursed steel 

away, 
Marc Anthony, how the blood of Caesar 

followed it ! 
I come not, friends, to steal away your 

hearts ; 
I am no thief, as Brutus is. 
Brutus has a monopoly on all that business, 
And if he had his deserts he would be 
In the penitentiary, and don't you forget it. 



220 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



Kind friends, sweet friends, I do not wish 

to stir you up 
To such a flood of mutiny. 
And as it looks like rain, 
The pall bearers will please place the coffin 

in the hearse, 
And we will proceed to bury Caesar, 
Not to praise him. 

COUNTING EGGS. 

Read or recite in a deliberate, conventional style, observing to 
imitate the voice and manner proper to the lady and the old 
negro in their respective parts. 

OLD Moses, who sells eggs and chickens 
on the streets of Austin for a living, 
is as honest an old negro as ever lived; 
but he has the habit of chatting familiarily 
with his customers, hence he frequently 
makes mistakes in counting out the eggs 
they buy. He carries his wares around in 
a small cart drawn by a diminutive donkey. 
He stopped in front of the residence of Mrs. 
Samuel Burton. The old lady herself came 
out to the gate to make the purchase, and 
the following conversation ensued : 

" Have you any eggs this morning, Uncle 
Moses ?" she asked. 

" Yes, indeed, I has. Jess got in ten 
dosen from de kentty." 

' 'Are they fresh?" 

" Fresh ? Yas, indeed ! I guarantees 'em, 
an' — an' — de hen guarantees 'm." 

"I'll take nine dozen. You can count 
them into this basket." 

" All right, mum ; " he counts, " One, 
two, free, foah, five, six, seben, eight, nine, 
ten. You can rely on them bein' fresh. 
How's your son comin' on de school? He 
must be mos' grown." 

" Yes, Uncle Moses ; he is a clerk in a 
bank in Galveston." 

" Why, how ole am de boy ?' 

' ' He is eighteen . ' ' 

"You don't tole me so ! Eighteen, and 
getting a salary already ! Eighteen (count- 
ing^) nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty- 
two, twenty-three, twenty-foah, twenty-five. 
And how's your gal comin' on? She was 
most growed up de last time I seed her." 

" She is married and living in Dallas." 

" Wall' I declar'; how time shoots away. 
And you say she has childruns ? Why how 
ole am de gal ? She must be jest about — ' ' 

" Thirty- three." 



"Am dat so?" {Counting?) " Firty- 
free, firty-foah, firty-five, firty-six, firty- 
seben, Arty-eight, firty-nine, forty, forty-one, 
forty-two, forty- free. Hit am singular dat 
you has such ole childruns. You don't 
look more den forty years old yerseff. ' ' 

"Nonsense, old man ; I see you want to 
flatter me. When a person gets to be fifty- 
three years old — " 

" Fifty- free ! I jess dun gwinter bleeve 
hit ; fifty-free, fifty-foah, fifty-five, fifty six — 
I want you to pay 'tenshun when I count de 
eggs, so dar'll be no mistake— fifty-nine, 
sixty, sixty-one, sixty-two, sixty-free, sixty- 
foah. Whew ! Dis am a warm day. Dis 
am de time ob year when I feels I'se gettin' 
ole myself; I ain't long fur dis world. You 
comes from an ole family. When your 
fadder died he was seben ty years ole." 

" Seventy-two." 

' ' Dat's old, suah. Sebenty-two, sebenty- 
free, sebenty-foah, sebenty-five, seben ty-six, 
sebenty-seben, sebendy- eight, sebenty-nine. 
And your mudder? she was one ob de 
noblest lookin' ladies I ebber see. You 
remind me ob her so much ! She libed to 
mos' a hundred. I bleeves she was done 
past a centurion when she died." 

" No, Uncle Moses ; she was only ninety- 
six when she died." 

"Den she wan't no chicken when she 
died, I know dat. Ninety-six, ninety-seben, 
ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred, one, 
two, free, foah, five, six, seben, eight — dar, 
one hundred and eight nice fresh eggs — jess 
nine dozen, and here am foah moah eggs in 
case I have discounted myself. ' ' 

Old Moses went on his way rejoicing. A 
few days afterward Mrs. Burton said to her 
husband : 

' ' I am afraid we will have to discharge 
Matilda. I am satisfied that she steals the 
milk and eggs. I am positive about the 
eggs , for I bought them day before yester- 
day,' and now about half of them are gone. 
I stood right there, and heard Moses count 
them myself, and there were nine dozen," 
" Texas Siftings." 



M 



THE BABY'S FIRST TOOTH. 

r. and Mrs. Jones had just finished 
their breakfast. Mr. Jones had 
pushed back his chair and was 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



221 



looking under the lounge for his boots. 
Mrs. Jones sat at the table holding the infant 
Jones and mechanically working her fore- 
finger in its mouth. Suddenly she paused 
in the motion, threw the astonished child 
on its back, turned as white as a sheet, 
pried open its mouth, and immediately 
gasped " Ephraim ! " Mr. Jones, who was 
yet on his knees with his head under the 
lounge, at once came forth, rapping his 
head sharply on the side of the lounge as 
she did so, and, getting on his feet, inquired 
what was the matter. " O Ephraim," said 
she, the tears rolling down her cheeks and 
the smiles coursing up. " Why, what is it, 
Aramathea ? ' ' said the astonished Mr. 
Jones, smartly rubbing his head where it 
had come in contact with the lounge. 
"Baby!" she gasped. Mr. Jones turned 
pale and commenced to sweat. "Baby! 
0,0,0 Ephraim! Baby has— baby has 
got— a little toothey, oh ! oh ! " " No ! " 
screamed Mr. Jones, spreading his legs 
apart, dropping his chin and staring at the 
struggling heir with all his might. " I tell 
you it is," persisted Mrs. Jones, with a 
slight evidence of hysteria. "Oh, it can't 
be!" protested Mr. Jones, preparing to 
swear if it wasn't. " Come here and see 
for yourself," said Mrs. Jones. " Open its 
'ittle mousy-wousy for its own muzzer ; 
that's a toody-woody ; that's a blessed 'ittle 
'ump o' sugar." Thus conjured, the heir 
opened its mouth sufficiently for the father 
to thrust in his finger, and that gentleman 
having convinced himself by the most 
unmistakable evidence that a tooth was 
there, immediately kicked his hat across the 
room, buried his fist in the lounge, and 
declared with much feeling that he could 
lick the individual who would dare to inti- 
mate that he was not the happiest man on 
the face of the earth. Then he gave Mrs. 
Jones a hearty smack on the mouth and 
snatched up the heir, while that lady rushed 
tremblingly forth after Mrs. Simmons, who 
lived next door. In a moment Mrs. Sim- 
mons came tearing in as if she had been 
shot out of a gun, and right behind her 
came Miss Simmons at a speed that indicated 
that she had been ejected, from two guns. 
Mrs. Simmons at once snatched the heir 
from the arms of Mr. Jones and hurried it 



to the window, where she made a careful 
and critical examination of its mouth, while 
Mrs. Jones held its head and Mr. Jones 
danced up and down the room, and snapped 
his fingers to show how calm he was. It 
having been ascertained by Mrs. Simmons 
that the tooth was a sound one, and also 
that the strongest hopes for its future could 
be entertained on account of its coming in 
the new of the moon, Mrs. Jones got out 
the necessary material and Mr. Jones at 
once proceeded to write seven different 
letters to as many persons, unfolding to 
them the event of the morning and inviting 
them to come on as soon as possible. — 
" D anbury News Man." 



A SERENADE TO SPRING. 

Negro Dialect. 

Imitate the voice of the frog and cricket, and the swishing hiss 
of the snake, where they are made to speak. 

i i T^B fus' spring frog blow de mud fum 
±J his eyes. 

En peep fum de daid leaf mol' ; 
He stretch his legs en squat crosswise, 

En croak : ' Fuh de Ian', ain't it col' ! ; 
' Fuh de Ian', ain't it col' ! ' croak de pea- 
green frog, 
En he stahts, en sneeze, en sneeze ; 
En he hop two feet to de cypress log — 
En croak : ' Ah '11 hop or freeze ! ' 

" De fus' spring cricket wuk his long-laig 
saw, 
En saw fro de coocoon pill ; 
He sun hisself on a las' yea's straw, 

En squeak : ' Fuh de Ian' , what a chill ! '- 
'Fuh de Ian', what a chill!' de brown 
cricket squeak, 
En he heah mistah frog's deep chune ; 
En togeddah dey squat on the moss log 
bleak, 
En pine fuh de bref of June. 

" De fus' spring snake keek de roof fum his 
hole, 
En up fum de erf he sneak ; 
He twine hisself 'roun' de swamp-fence 
pole, 
En hiss : ' Fuh de Ian', ain't it bleak ! ' 
' Fuh de Ian', ain't it bleak ! ' hiss de bal' 
haid snake, 
En he heah de cricket en de frog ; 



222 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



En he staht away wid a wriggle en a shake, 
En jine dcm bofe on de log. 

"So de cricket en de frog en de bal' haid 
snake, 
Staht up a sahanade wail ; 
De snake cudn't sing, so he start in to 
shake, 
En beat de time wid his tail, 
En de frog cum- in wid his bazoo deep 

En de cricket's sharp notes ring : 
En dey wake up de meddah en vale fum 
sleep, 
Wid a sahanade to spring. ' ' 

" Thk Chicago News." 



THEOLOGY IN THE QUARTERS. 

Negro Dialect, 

Now. I's got a notion in my head dat 
when you come to die, 
An' stan' de 'zamination in de Cote- 
house in de sky, 
You'll be 'stonished at de questions dat de 

angel's gwine to ax 
When he gits you on de witness -stan' an' 

pin you to de fac's ; 
'Cause he'll ax you mighty closely 'bout 

your doin's in de night, 
An' de water-milion question's gwine to 

bodder you a sight ! 
Den your eyes '11 open wider dan dey ebber 

done befo', 
When he chats you 'bout a chicken-scrape 

dat happened long ago ! 
De angels on de picket-line erlong de Milky 

Way 
Keeps a-watchin' what you're dribin' at, an' 

hear in' what you say ; 
No matter what you want to do, no matter 

whar you's gwine, 
Dey's mighty ap' to find it out an' pass it 

'long de line ; 
An' of en at de meetin', when you make a 

fuss an' laugh, 
Why, dey send de news a-kitin' by de 

golden telegraph ; 
Den, de angel in de orfis, what's a-settin' 

by de gate, 
Jes' reads de message wid a look an' claps 

it on de slate ! 



Den you better do your juty well an' keep 

your conscience clear, 
An' keep a-lookin' straight ahead an' 

watchin ' whar you steer ; 
'Cause arter while de time '11 come to 

journey fum de Ian', 
An' dey '11 take you way up in de a'r an' 

put you on de stan' ; 
Den you'll hab to listen to de clerk an' 

answer mighty straight, 
Ef you ebber 'spec' to trabble froo de 

alaplaster gate ! 

J. A. Macon. 



WHAT THE LITTLE GIRL SAID, 

Very amusing when recited at a Church Enter- 
tainment. 

ii TV /Fa's up-stairs changing her dress," 
1V-L said the freckle-faced little girl, 
tying her doll's bonnet strings 
and casting her eye about for a tidy large 
enough to serve as a shawl for that double- 
jointed young person. 

" Oh, your mother needn't dress up for 
me," replied the female agent of the mis- 
sionary society, taking a self-satisfied view 
of herself in the mirror. " Run up and 
tell her to come down just as she is in her 
every-day clothes, and. not stand on cere- 
mony." 

"Oh, but she hasn't got on her every- 
day clothes. Ma was all dressed up in her 
new brown silk dress, 'cause she expected 
Miss Dimmond to-day. Miss Dimmond 
always comes over here to show off her 
nice things, and ma doesn't mean to get 
left. When ma saw you coming she said, 
' the dickens ! ' and I guess she was mad 
about something. Ma said if you saw her 
new dress, she'd have to hear all about the 
poor heathen, who don't have silk, and 
you ' d ask her for money to buy hymn-books to 
send 'em. Say, do the nigger ladies use 
hymn-book leaves to do their hair up on 
and make it frizzy ? Ma says she guesses 
that's all the good the books do 'em, if 
they ever get any books. I wish my doll 
was a heathen." 

"Why, you wicked little girl! what do 
you want of a heathen doll?" inquired the 
missionary lady, taking a mental inventory 
of the new things in the parlor to get 



o 

HI 

o r - 



WD 
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w< 

o — 

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o O 

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HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



225 



material for a homily on worldy extrava- 
gance. 

' ' So folks would send her lots of nice 
things to wear, and feel sorry to have her 
going about naked. Then she'd have her 
hair to frizz, and I want a doll with truly 
hair and eyes that roll up like Deacon Sil- 
derback's when he says amen on Sunday. 
I ain't a wicked girl, either, 'cause Uncle 
Dick — you know Uncle Dick, he's been out 
West and swears awful and smokes in the 
house — he says I'm a holy terror, and he 
hopes I'll be an angel pretty soon. Ma '11 
be down in a minute, so you needn't take 
your cloak off. She said she'd box my 
ears if I asked you to. 

" Ma's putting on that old dress she had 
last year, 'cause she didn't want you to 
think she was able to give much this time, 
and she needed a muff worse than the queen 
of the cannon-ball islands needed religion . 
Uncle Dick says you oughter get to the 
islands, 'cause you'd be safe there, and the 
natives would be sorry they was such sin- 
ners anybody would send you to 'em. He 
says he never seen a heathen hungry enough 
to eat you, 'less 'twas a blind one, an' you'd 
set a blind pagan's teeth on edge so he'd 
never hanker after any more missionary. 
Uncle Dick's awful funny, and makes ma 
and pa die laughing sometimes." 

" Your Uncle Richard is a bad, depraved 
wretch, and ought to have remained out 
West, where his style is appreciated . He sets 
a horrid example for little girls like you." 

" Oh, I think he's nice. He showed me 
how to slide down the banisters, and he's 
teaching me to whistle when ma ain't 
around. That's a pretty cloak you've got, 
ain't it ? Do you buy all your clothes with 
missionary money ? Ma says you do." 

Just then the freckle- faced little girl's ma 
came into the parlor and kissed the mis- 
sionary lady on the cheek and said she was 
delighted to see her, and they proceeded to 
have a real sociable chat. The little girl's 
ma cannot understand why a person who 
professes to be so charitable as the mis- 
sionary agent does should go right over to 
Miss Dimmond's and say such ill-natured 
things as she did, and she thinks the mis- 
sionary is a double-faced gossip. The little 
girl understands it better than her ma does. 



THE BELL-WETHER AND THE DEACON. 

Humorous Reading for a Church Entertainment, 
i C \7~ ou see >" sa -id Sam L,awson, " there 
JL was old Dick Ike's bell-wether, he 
wuz the fightenest old critter that 
ever you see. Many a time he's chased me 
aud Lem Ludoc on our way to see the 
Larkin gals ; but, as I was a sayin', what I 
want to tell yer is about him and the Dea- 
con. Ike let his sheep graze in the church- 
yard — wrong of course, but then he done it ; 
and that's what got the Deacon in trouble. 
The weather was sizzlin' hot and the Deacon 
was the tithin' man and used to keep him- 
self awake in meetin' by runnin' around 
wakin' up everybody else, and crackin' 
the boys with his stick whenever he ketched 
one in mischief. Nothin' escaped him. He 
seemed like one of them beasts in Revela- 
tion that was full of eyes behind and before. 
Well, folks that is chipper and high-steppin' 
has their come-downs, and the Deacon had 
to hev his. 

Well, that Sunday the parson give us a 
great sermon, and the Deacon run around 
and keep everything straight till it was most 
through, and then he sot down right by the 
door, and the hot weather overcome him so 
he fell asleep just before the sermon closed. 

" Wal, Parson Morrell had a way o' 
prayin' with his eyes open. Folks said it 
wa'n't the best way, but it was Parson Mor- 
rell 's anyhow, and so as he was prayin' he 
couldn't help seein' that Deacon Titkins 
was a noddin' and a bobbin' out towards 
the place where old Dick was feedin' with 
the sheep, front o' the meetin '-house door. 

" Iyem and me was sittin' where we could 
look out and we could jest see old Dick 
stop feedin' and look at the Deacon. 
The Deacon had a little round head as 
smooth as an apple, with a nice powdered 
wig on it, and he sot there makin' bobs and 
bows, and Dick begun to think it was 
suthin' sort o' pussonel. I^em and me was 
sittin' jest where we could look out and 
see the whole picter, and Lem was fit to 
split. 

" ' Good, now,' says he, ' that crittur '11 
pay the Deacon off lively, pretty soon.' 

"The Deacon bobbed his head a spell, 
and old Dick he shook his horns and 
stamped at him sort o' thretnin'. Finally, 



226 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



the Deacon he gave a great bow and brought 
his head right down at him, and old Dick 
he sot out full tilt and come down on him 
ker chunk, and knocked him head over 
heels into the broad aisle, and his wig flew 
one way and he t' other, and Dick made a 
lunge at it as it flew, and carried it off on 
his horns. 

" Wal, you may believe, that broke up 
the meetin' for one while, for Parson Mor- 
rell laughed out, and all the girls and boys 
they stamped and roared, and the old Dea- 
con he got up and begun rubbing his shins 
'cause he didn't see the joke on't. 

" ' You don't orter laugh,' says he, ' it's 
no laughin' matter — it's a solemn thing,' 
says he, ' I might have been sent into 'tar- 
nity by that darned crittur,' says he. Then 
they all roared and haw-hawed the more to 
see the Deacon dancin' round with his little 
shiny head, so smooth a fly would trip up 
on't. ' I believe, on my soul, you'd laugh 
to see me in my grave,' says he ! 

" Wal, the truth on't was, 't was just one 
of them bustin' up times that natur' has, 
when there ain't nothin' for it but to give 
in; 't was jest like the ice breakin' up in 
the Charles River — it all come at once and 
no whoa to 't. Sunday or no Sunday, sin or 
no sin, the most on 'em laughed till they 
cried, and couldn't help it. 

" But the Deacon he went home feelin' 
pretty sore about it. Lem Ludoc he picked 
up his wig and handed it to him. Says he, 
' Old Dick was playing tithing-man, wa'n't 
he, Deacon ? Teach you to make allow- 
ance for other folks that get sleepy.' 

"Then Mrs. Titkins she went over to 
Aunt Jerushy Scran's and Aunt Polly 
Hokum's, and they had a poto' tea over it, 
and 'greed it was awful of Parson Morrell to 
set sich an example, and suthin' had got to 
be done about it. Miss Hokum said she 
allers knew that Parson Morrell hadn't no 
spiritooality, and now it had broke out into 
open sin, and led all the rest of 'em into it ; 
and Mrs. Titkins, she said such a man 
wa'n't fit to preach ; and Miss Hokum said 
she could n't never hear him ag'in, and the 
next Sunday the Deacon and his wife they 
hitched up and driv eight miles over to 
Parson Lothrop's, and took Aunt Polly on 
the back seat. 



" Wal, the thing growed and growed 
till it seemed as if there war n't nothing 
else talked about, 'cause Aunt Polly and 
Mrs. Titkins and Jerushy Scran they didn't 
do nothin' but talk about it, and that sot 
everybody else a talkin.' 

" Finally, it was 'greed they must hev a 
council to settle the hash. So all the wiin- 
men they went to chopping mince, and 
making uppunkin pies and cranberry tarts, 
and bilin' doughnuts, gettin' reddy for the 
ministers and delegates — 'cause councils 
always eats powerful — and they had quite a 
stir, like a gineral trainin'. The hosses, 
they was hitched all up and down the stalls, 
a-stompin' and switchin' their tails, and all 
the wimmen was a-talkin', and they hed up 
everybody round for witnesses, and finally 
Parson Morrell he says, ' Brethren,' says 
he, ' jest let me tell you the story jest as it 
happened, and if you don't every one of you 
laugh as hard as I did , why , then I ' 11 giv e up . ' 

" The parson, he was a master hand at 
setting off a story, and afore he'd done he 
got 'em all in sich a roar they didn't know 
where to leave off. Finally , they give sen- 
tence that there hadn't no temptation took 
him but such as is common to man ; but they 
advised him afterward allers to pray with his 
eyes shut, and the parson he confessed he 
orter 'a done it, and meant to do better 
in future, and so they settled it. 

"So, boys," said Sam, who always drew 
a moral, ' ' ye see it larns you you must take 
care what ye look at, ef ye want to keep 
from laughin' in meetin'." 

Mrs. H. B. Stowk. 



A MOST OBLIGING LITTLE SISTER. 

Humorous Child Character Sketch. 

In this recitation a very demure and simple looking young 
man should be standing looking foolishly and expectantly at the 
door way — to whom should enter in a romping irrepressible 
mood, a girl of apparently about twelve years of age. 

c c IV /T Y sister'll be down in a minute, and 

JlY1_ says you're to wait, if you please ; 

And says I might stay till she came, 

if I'd promise her never to tease, 

Nor speak till you spoke to me first. But 

that's nonsense ; for how w'ld yon know 

What she told me to say, if I didn't. 

Don't you really and trully think so ? 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



227 



''And then you'd feel strange here alone. 

And yon wouldn't know just where to 
sit ; 
For that chair isn't strong on its legs, and 

we never use it a bit : 
We keep it to match with the sofa ; but 

Jack says it would be like you, 
To flop yourself right down upon it, and 

knock out the very last screw. 



But what there is left of it's mousy, and not 
what that naughty Jack said. 

But there ! I must go : sister's coming ! 
But I wish I could wait, just to see 

If she ran up to you, and she kissed you in 
the way she used to kiss Lee." 

Bret Hartk. 



" Suppose you try ! I won't tell. You're 

afraid to ! Oh ! you're afraid they 

would think it was mean ! 

Well, then, there's the album : that's pretty, 

if you're sure that you're fingers are 

clean. 

For sister says sometimes I daub it ; but she 

only says that when she's cross. 
There's her picture. You know it ? It's 
like her ; but she ain't as good-looking, 
of course. 

"This is Me. I'ts the best of 'em all. 

Now, tell me, you'd never have thought 
That once I was little as that? It's the 

only one that could be bought ; 
For that was the message to Pa from the 

photograph- man where I sat, — 
That he wouldn't print off any more till he 

first got his money for that. 

"What? Maybe you're tired of waiting. 

Why, often she's longer than this. 
There's all her back hair to do up, and all 

of her front curls to friz. 
But it's nice to be sitting here talking like 

grown people, just you and me ! 
Do you think you'll be coming here often ? 

Oh, do ! But don't come like Tom 
Lee, — 

" Tom Lee, her last beau. Why, my good- 
ness ! he used to be here day and night, 

Till the folks thought he'd be her husband ; 
and Jack says that gave him a fright. 

You won't run away then, as he did ? For 
you're not a rich man, they say ! 

Pa says you're poor as a church-mouse. 
Now, are you ? and how poor are they ? 

" Ain't you glad that you met me ? Well, I 
am ; for I know now your hair isn't red ; 



BABY'S SOLILOQUY. 

The following selection can be made very humorous if the 
person reading it assumes the tones of a very little child, and in 
appropriate places imitates the cry of a baby. 

I am here. And if this is what they call 
the world, I don't think much of it. 
It's a very flannelly world, and smells 
of paregoric awfully. It's a dreadful light 
world, too. and makes me blink, I tell you. 
And I don't know what to do with 
my hands. I think I'll dig my fists 
in my eyes. No, I won't. I'll scratch 
at the corner of my blanket and chew it up, 
and then I'll holler ; whatever happens, I'll 
holler. And the more paregoric they give 
me, the louder I'll yell. That old nurse 
puts the spoon in the corner of my mouth, 
sidewise like, and keeps tasting my milk 
herself all the while. She spilt snuff in it 
last night, and when I hollered, she trotted 
me. That comes of being a two days- old 
baby. 

Never mind ; when I'm a man, I'll pay 
her back good. There's a pin sticking in 
me now, and if I say a word about it, I'll 
be trotted or fed ; and I would rather have 
catnip-tea. I'll tell you who I am. I 
found out to-day. I heard folks say, 
" Hush don't wake up Kmeline's baby ; " 
and I suppose that pretty, white-faced 
woman over on the pillow is Kmeline. 

No, I was mistaken ; for a chap was in 
here just now and wanted to see Bob's 
baby ; and looked at me and said I was a 
funny little toad, and looked just like Bob. 
He smelt of cigars. I wonder who else I 
belong to ! Yes, there's another one — 
that " Gamma." " It was Gamma's baby, 
so it was." I declare, I do not know who 
I belong to ; but I'll holler, and maybe I'll 
find out, There comes snuffy with catnip- 
tea. I'm going to sleep. I wonder why 
my hands won't go where I want them to ! 



228 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



A YANKEE IN LOVE. 

A very funny farce. A good comedian has excellent oppor- 
tunity to show his ability in this selection. 

ONE day Sail fooled me ; she heated the 
poker awful hot, then asked me to 
stir the fire. I seized hold of it 
mighty quick to oblige her, and dropped it 
quicker to oblige myself. Well, after the 
poker scrape, me and Sail only got on mid- 
diin' well for some time, till I made up my 
mind to pop the question, for I loved her 
harder every day, and I had an idea she 
loved me or had a sneaking kindness for 
me. But how to do the thing up nice and 
right pestered me orful . I bought some love 
books, and read how the fellers get down 
onter their knees and talk like poets, and 
how the girls would gently -like fall in love 
with them. But somehow or other that 
way didn't kinder suit my notion. I asked 
mam how she and dad courted, but she said 
it had had been so long she had forgotten all 
about it. Uncle Joe said mam did all the 
courting. 

At last I made up my mind to go it 
blind, for this thing was fairly consumin' 
my mind ; so I goes over to her dad's, and 
when I got there I sot like a fool, thinkin' 
how to begin. Sail seed somethin' was 
troublin' me, so she said, says she, " An't 
you sick, Peter?" She said this mighty 
soft-like. "Yes; No!" sez I; that is, 
I an't zackly well. I thought I'd come 
over to-night," sez I. I tho't that was a 
mighty purty beginnin' ; so I tried again. 
' ' Sail, ' ' sez I — and by this time I felt kinder 
fainty about the stommuck and shaky about 
the knees'— "Sail," sezlagin. "What?" 
sez she. I'll get to it arter awhile at this 
rate, thinks I. " Peter," says she, " there's 
suthin' troublin' you; 'tis mighty wrong 
for you to keep it from a body, for an inard 
sorrer is a consumin' fire." She said this, 
she did, the sly critter. She knowed what 
was the matter all the time mighty well, 
and was only trying to fish it out, but I was 
so far gone I couldn't see the point. 

At last I sorter gulped down the big 
lump a-risin' in my throat, and sez I, sez I, 
' ' Sail , do you love anybody ?" " Well, ' ' 
sez she, "there's dad and mam," and 
a-countin' of her fingers all the time, with 
her eyes sorter shet like a feller shootin' off 



a gun, * ' and there's old Pide (that were their 
old cow), and I can't think of anybody else 
just now," says she. Now, this was orful 
for a feller dead in love ; so arter awhile I 
tried another shute. Sez I, " Sail," sez I, 
"I'm powerful lonesome at home, and 
sometimes think if I only had a nice, pretty 
wife to love and talk to, move, and have my 
bein' with, I'd be a tremendous feller." 
Sez I, " Sail," do you know any gal would 
keer for me?" 

With that she begins, and names over all 
the gals for five miles around, and never 
once came nigh naming herself, and sed I 
oughter get one of them. This sorter got 
my dander up, so I hitched my chair up, 
close to her, and shet my eyes and sed, 
" SALIy, you are the very gal I've been 
hankering arter for a long time. I love 
you all over, from the sole of your head to 
the crown of your foot, and I don't care 
who knows it, and if you say so we'll 
be jined together in the holy bonds of hem- 
lock, Kpluribusunum, world without end, 
amen ! " sez I ; and then I felt like I'd 
thro wed up an alligator; I felt so relieved. 

With that she fetched a sorter a scream, 
and arter awhile sez, sez she, " PETER ! " 
" What, Sally?" sez I. " YES !" sez she, 
a-hidin' of her face behind her hands. You 
bet a heap, I felt good. " Glory ! glory ! " 
sez I, " I must holler, Sail, or I shall bust. 
Hurrah for hoorray ! I can jump over a ten- 
rail fence ! ' ' 

With that I sot right down by her and 
clinched the bargain with a kiss. Talk 
about your blackberry jam ; talk about your 
sugar andmerlasses ; you wouldn't a got me 
nigh 'em — they would all a-been sour arter 
that. Oh, these gals ! how good and bad, 
how high and low they make a feller feel ! 
If Sail's daddy hadn't sung out 'twas time 
all honest folks was abed, I'd a-sot there 
two hours longer. 

You oughter seed me when I got home ! 
I pulled dad out of bed and hugged him ! 
I pulled mam out of bed and hugged her ! 
I pulled aunt Jane out of bed and hugged 
her ! I larfed and hollered and crowed like 
a rooster, I danced around there, and I cut 
up more capers than you ever heerd tell on, 
till dad thought I was crazy, and got a rope 
to tie me with. 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



229 



"Dad," sez I, "I'm goin' to be mar- 
ried ! " " Married ! ' ' bawled dad. ' ' Mar- 
ried ! " squalled mam. "Married!" 
screamed aunt Jane. " Yes, married," sez 
I; "married all over, married for sure, 
married like a flash — joined in wedlock, 
hooked on forlife, forworser or for better, for 
life and for death — to SAivL. I am that 
very thing — me! Peter Sorghum Esquire ! ' ' 

With that I ups and tells ' em all about it 
from Alfer to Krmeger ! They was all 
mighty well pleased, and I went to bed as 
proud as a young rooster with his first spurs. 

Ai,f Burnett. 



MISS JANUARY JONES' LECTURE ON 
WOriAN'S RIGHTS. 

A farce character. Young man dressed up as a 
colored woman. 

Ladies and gentlemen : Hear me for my 
cause, and be silent that I may have 
your years. I come to speak for my 
sufferin' sisters. 

Man, my hearers, claims to be the sooper- 
ior uv woman ! Is it so ? and ef so, in what, 
and how much ? Wuz he the fust creashun? 
He wuz, my hearers ; but what does that 
prove ? Man wuz made fust, but the exper- 
ience gained in makin' man wuz applied to 
the makin' uv a Detterer and more finerer 
bein', uv whom I am a sample. Nacher 
made man, but saw in a breef space uv time 
thet he coodent take keer of hisself alone, 
and so he made a woman to take keer uv 
him, and thet's why we wuz created, tho' 
seein' all the trubble we hev, I don't doubt 
thet it wood hev bin money in our pockets 
ef we hedn't bin med at all. 

Imagine, my antiquated sisters, Adam, 
afore Eve was med ! Who sowed on his 
shirt buttins ? Who cooked his beef-steak ? 
Who med his coffee in the mornin' and did 
his washin'? He wuz mizzable, he wuz — 
he must hev boarded out, and eat hash ! 
But when Eve cum, the scene changed. 
Her gentle hand suthed his akin' brow wen 
he cum in from a hard day's work. She 
hed his house in order ; she hed his slippers 
and dressin' gown reddy, and after tea he 
smookedhis meershaum in peece. 

Men, crooel, hard-hearted men, assert 
thet Eve wuz the cause uv his expulshun 



from Eden — thet she plucked the apple ana 
give him half; oh, my sisters, it's troo : it's 
too troo, but what uv it ? It proves, fustly, 
her goodness, Hed Adam plucked the 
apple, ef it hed bin a good one, he'd never 
thought of his wife at home, but wood hev 
gobbled it all. Eve, angel that we all are, 
thought uv him, and went havers with him ! 
Secondly, it wuz the meens uv good, any- 
how. It interdoost deth inter the wurld, 
which separated 'em wile they ©-till hed luv 
fur each uther. I appeal to the sterner sex 
present to-night, Wood 3^00, oh, wood yoo, 
desire for immortality, onless, indede, you 
lived in Injeany, where you cood git di- 
vorces, and change your names wunst in 
ten or fifteen yeers ? S'pos'n all uv yoo hed 
bin fortoonit enuff to win sich virgin soles 
ez me, cood yoo endoor charms like mine 
for a eternity ? Methinks not. I know 
that ef I hed a husband he wood bless Eve 
for interdoosin' death inter the world. 



CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 

Italian dialect. 

DKESA man liva in Italia a gooda longa 
time ago. He hada greata head ever 
since he was a kidda. Not a bigga 
heada likea de politicians nowaday — not a 
swella heada. His fadda keepa de standa 
in Italia. Sella de peanutta and de banan. 
Maka plente de mon. Christopher Colum 
he say, ' ' Fadda, gimma de stamp, I go finda 
de new world. ' ' His fadda he laugh, ' ' Ha ! 
ha !" just so. Den Christopher he say, 
" Whata you maka fun ! I betta you I finda 
new world." After a longa time his fadda 
say, " You go finda new world, and bringa 
it over here. ' ' Den de olda man he buy him 
a grip-sack, an' giva him boodle, an' maka 
him a present of three ships to come over to 
deesa contra. Well, Christopher Colum he 
saila an' saila for a gooda many day. He 
don't see any landa. An' he say, " I giva 
fiva dollar bill if I was back in Italia ! ' ' 
Well, he saila, an' he saila, an' vera soon he 
strika Coney Island. Den dat maka him 
glad ! Vera soon he coma to Castle Garden, 
an' den he walka up Broadway an' he feel 
very bada. He finda outa dat de Irish gang 
has gotta possession of New Yorka ! He 
don't likade Irish, an' de Shamrocka donta 



14 



230 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



lika him. He donta go vera far before a 
pleasanter mana speaks to him. He say, 
" How-a-you do, Mista Jones? Howa de 
folks in Pittabrrrg ?" Christopher Colum he 
say, "I notta Mista Jones; I reada the 
papers ; I tinka you sella de green goods, 
ha ? You go away, or I broka your jaw ?" 
Den he shaka hees fista deesa way, and de 
man he skedaddle. Den he tries to crossa 
de Broad-a-way, but it fulla de mud an' he 
canta swim. Vera soon he sees a policeman 
cluba de mana, one, two, three times, an' he 
feel secka de stom'! Next he metta de 
politicians uppa Tammany Hall, an' dees 
wanta him to runna for Alderman. He 
getta plenty friend. He learna to ' ' settom 
op" at de bar mana time. Next day he 
hava heada like deesa ! 

His fada w r rita : ' ' Why you notta bringa 
back de new world ? I lika to hava de 
earth !" Chistopher Colum he writa back 
dat New Yorka is already in de hands of the 
Shamrocka. Den he goes to Ohio and buys 
a place an' calla it after himself — Colum. 
Soon he goa broka an' taka de nexta train 
home in disgusta, because he reada in de 
paper dat the Fair in '93 was holda in 
Chicago ! 



A GIRL'S CONVERSATION OVER THE 
TELEPHONE. 

A catchy piece of humor in any audience accus- 
tomed to the use of the telephone. 

I consider that a conversation by tele- 
phone — when you are simply sitting by 
and not taking any part in that con- 
versation — is one of the solemnest curios- 
ities of this modern life. 

Yesterday I was writing a deep article 
on a sublime philosophical subject while 
such a conversation was going on in the 
next room. I notice that one can always 
write best when somebody is talking 
through a telephone close by. Well, the 
thing began in this wa3'. A member of 
our household came in and asked me to 
have our house put into communication 
with Mr. Bagley's down town. I have 
observed, in many cities, that the gentle 
sex always shrink from calling up the 
Central Office themselves. I don't know 



why, but they do. So I rang the bell, 
and this talk ensued : 

Central office — ' ' What-number-do-you 
want ? " 

I.—" Main 24-68." 

C. O. — " Main 2-4-6-3 ? " 

I.— "No, 2-4-6-8." 

Then I heard a k-look, k-look, k-look — 
klook-klook-klook-look-look ! Then a hor- 
rible "gritting" of teeth, and finally a 
piping voice : 

' ' Hello ? ' ' (rising inflection) . 

I. — " Hello, is this Mr. Bagley's? " 

" Yes, did you wish to speak to me ? " 

Without answering, I handed the re- 
ceiver to the applicant, and sat down. 
Then followed the queerest of all things 
in the world — a conversation with only 
one end to it. You hear questions asked ; 
you don't hear the answer. You hear invi- 
tations given ; you hear no thanks in return. 
You have listening pauses of dead silence, 
followed by apparently irrelevant and 
unjustifiable exclamations of glad surprise, 
or sorrow or dismay. You can't make 
head or tail out of the talk, because you 
never hear anything that the person at the 
other end of the wire says. Well, I heard 
the following series of remarkable observa- 
tions, all from the one tongue, and all 
shouted, — for you can't ever persuade the 
gentle sex to speak gently into a telephone: 
{Goes to imaginary telephone and holds hand 
to ear as if holding the receiver?) 

" Hello, is that you, Daisy ? " {Pause.) 

"Yes. Why, how did that happen!" 
{Pause.) 

" What did you say ? " {Pause.) 

" Oh, no, I don't think it was." {Pause.) 

"No! Oh, no, I didn't mean that. I 
did think of getting it, but I don't believe it 
will stay in style, and — what ? — and Charlie 
just hates that shade of blue, anyway." 
{Pause.) 

"What's that?" 

" You wouldn't let him dictate to you, at 
least before you were married ? " {Pause.) 

"Why, my dear, how childish! You 
don't suppose I'd let him afterwards, do 
you?" {Pause.) 

' ' I turned it over with a back-stitch on 
the selvage edge, ' ' {Pause.) 

" Yes, I like that way, too ; but I think 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



231 



it better to baste it on with Valenciennes, or 
something of that kind. It gives such an 
air." (Pause.) 

" Yes, you know he did pay some atten- 
tion to Celia . ' ' (Pause . ) 

"Why, she threw herself right at his 
head." (Pause.) 

' ' And he told me he always admired 
me." (Pause.) 

" Well, he said it seemed as if he never 
could get anybody to introduce him." 
(Pause.) 

' ' Perhaps so ; I generally use a hairpin. ' ' 

' ' What did you say ? ' ' (Aside) ' ' Chil- 
dren, do be quiet ! ' ' (Pause.) 

" Oh ! B flat ! Dear me, I thought you 
said it was the cat ! " (Pause.) 

' ' Since when ? ' ' (Pause. ) 

" Why, I never heard of it." (Pause.) 

' ' You astound me ! It seems utterly 
impossible!" (Pause.) 

"Who did?" (Pause.) 

" Goodness gracious ! " (Pause.) 

"Well, what is the world coming to! 
Was it right in church ? ' ' (Pause.) 

' ' And was her mother there ? ' ' (Pause.) 

"Why, Daisy, I should have died of 
humiliation ! What did they do ? " (Long 
Pause. ) 

" I can't be perfectly sure, because I 
haven't the notes by me ; but I think it 
goes something like this : To-tolly-loll- 
loll-lee-ly-li-i-do ! And then repeat, you 
know." (Pause.) 

" Yes, I think it is very sweet — and very 
solemn and impressive, if you get the an- 
dantino and the pianissimo right." (Pause.) 

1 ' Did he really say that ? ' ' (Pause.) 
' "Yes, I do care for him — what? — but 
mind you don't tell him, I don't want him 
to know it." (Pause.) 

"What?" Pause.) 

"Oh, not in the least — go right on. 
Papa's here, writing, — it doesn't bother 
him." (Pause.) 

' : Very well , I '11 come if I can . ' ' (Aside) 
" Dear me, papa, how it does tire a person's 
arm to hold this thing up so long ! I wish 
she'd " (Pause.) 

" Oh, no, not at all ; I like to talk— but 
I'm afraid I'm keeping you from your 
affairs." (Pause.) 

"Visitors?" (Pause.) 



" No, we never use butter on them." 
(Pause. ) 

" Yes, that is a very good way ; but all 
the cook-books say they are very unhealthy 
when they are out of season. And papa 
doesn't like them, anyway, — especially 
canned." (Pause.) 

" Yes, I'm going to the concert with him 
to-night." (Pause.) 

"Engaged ? why, certainly not. ' ' (Pause. ) 
' You know, dear, you'd be the very first 
one I'd tell." (Pause.) 

" No, we really are not engaged." 
(Pause.) 

"Must you go? Well, good-bye." 
(Pause.) 

" Yes, I think so. Good-bye." (Pause.) 

' ' Four o ' clock , then — I ' 11 be ready . Can 
Charlie meet us then ? " (Pause.) 

" Oh, that's good. Good-bye." (Pause.) 

' ' Thank you ever so much. Good-bye. ' ' 
(Pause.) 

' ' Oh, not at all ! Just as fresh — which ? ' ' 

"Oh, I'm glad to hear that. Good-bye." 

(Hangs up the receiver and says :) " Oh, 
it does tire a person's arm so." (Stepping 
again to center of stage) 

A man delivers a single brutal ' ' good- 
bj^e, ' ' and that is the end of it. Not so with 
the gentle sex — I say it in their praise, they 
cannot abide abruptness. 



A SERMON FOR THE SISTERS. 

Negro Dialect. 

INEBBKR breaks a colt afore he's old 
enough to trabble ; 
I nebber digs my taters till dey plenty 
big to grabble ; 
An' when you sees me risin' up to structify 

in meetin ' , ' 
I's fust dumb up de knowledge- tree and 
done some apple-eatin ' . 

I sees some sistahs pruzint, mighty proud 

'o whut dey wearin', 
It's well you isn't apples, now, you better 

be declarin' ! 
For when you heerd yo' markit-price 'tYi 

hurt yo' little feelin's ; 
You wouldn't fotch a dime a peck, for all 

yo' fancy peelin's. 



232 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



sistahs — leetle apples (for you're r'ally 

mighty like 'em) — 

1 lubs de ol'-time russets, dough it's suldom 

I kin strike 'em ; 
An' so I lubs you, sistahs, for yo' grace, 

an' not yo' graces — 
I don't keer how my apple looks, but on'y 

how it tas'es. 

Is dare a Sabbaf-scholah heah ? Den let 

him 'form his mudder 
How Jacob-in-de-Bible's boys played off 

upon dey brudder ! 
Dey sol' him to a trader — an' at las' he 

struck de prison : 
Dat corned of Joseph's struttin' in dat 

streaked coat ob his'n. 

My Christian fren's, dis story proobes dat 

eben men is human — 
He'd had a dozen fancy coats ef he'd 'a' 

bin a 'ooman ! 
De cussidness ob showin'off, he foun' out 

all about it ; 
An' yit he wuz a Christian man, as good as 

ebber shouted. 

It larned him ! An' I bet you when he 

come to git his riches, 
Dey didn't go for stylish coats nor Phila- 

delphy breeches ; 
He didn't was'e his money when experunce 

taught him better, 
But he went aroun' a-lookin' like he's 

waitin' for a letter ! 

Now, sistahs, won't you copy him ? Say, 

won't you take a lesson, 
An' min' dis solium wahnin' 'bout de sin 

ob fancy dressin' ? 
How much you spen' upon yo'se'f ! I wish 

you might remember 
Yo' preacher ain't bin paid a cent sence 

somewhar in November. 

I better close. I sees some gals dis 

sahmon's kinder hittin' 
A-whisperin', an' 'sturbin' all dat's near 

whar dey's a-sittin' ; 
To look at dem, an' lis 'en at dey onrespect- 

ful jabber, 
It turns de milk ob human kineness mighty 

nigh to clabber ! 
A-a-a-men ! 

Irwin Russeee. 



MARK TWAIN INTRODUCES HIMSELF. 

Ladies — and — gentlemen : By — the re- 
quest of the — chairman of the — com- 
mittee — I beg leave to — intro — duce — 
to you — the reader of the eve — ning — a 
gentleman whose great learning — whose 
historical accuracy — whose devotion to sci- 
ence — and — whose veneration for the truth — 
are only equalled by his high moral char- 
acter — his — majestic presence. I allude — 
in these vague general terms — to myself. 
I am a litte opposed to the custom of cere- 
moniously introducing a reader to the 
audience because it seems — unnecessary — 
where the man has been properly adver- 
tised ! 

But as it is — the custom to have an intro- 
duction — I prefer to do the act myself — in 
my own case — and then I can rely on 
getting in — all the facts ! 

I never had but one introduction — that 
seemed to me — just the thing. In that 
instance the gentleman was not acquainted 
with me and there was, consequently, — no 
nonsence. 

Ladies and gentlemen, I shall waste no 
time in this introduction. I know of only 
two important facts about the man I am — 
introducing — First : he has never been in a 
state prison ; and, second : I cant — imagine 
why ! 



BILL NYE ON HORNETS. 

LAST fall I desired to add to my rare col- 
lection a large hornet's nest. I had 
an embalmed tarantula an her por- 
celain-lined nest, and I desired to add to 
these the gray and airy house of the hornet. 
I procured one of the large size, after cold 
weather, and hung it in my cabinet by a 
string. I forgot about it until spring. 
When warm weather came, something re- 
minded me of it ; I think it was a hornet. 
He jogged my memory in some way, and 
called my attention to it. Memory is not 
located where I thought it was. It seemed 
as though whenever he touched me he 
awakened a memory, — a warm memory, 
with a red place all around it. 

Then some more hornets came, and began 
to rake up old personalities I remember 
that one of them lit on my upper lip. 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



233 



He thought it was a rosebud, When he 
went away it looked like a gladiolus bulb. 
I wrapped a wet sheet around it to take out 
the warmth and reduce the swelling, so 
that I could go through the folding-doors, 
and tell my wife about it. Hornets lit all 
over me, and walked around on my person. 
I did not dare to scrape them off, because 
they were so sensitive. You have to be 
very guarded in your conduct toward a 
hornet. 

I remember once while I was watching 
the busy little hornet gathering honey and 
June bugs from the bosom of a rose, years 
ago, I stirred him up with a club, more as 
a practical joke than anything, and he came 
and lit in my sunny hair ; — that was when 
I wore my own hair — and he walked around 
through my gleaming tresses quite a while, 
making tracks as large as a watermelon all 
over my head. If he hadn't run out of 
tracks my head would have looked like a 
load of summer squashes. I remember I 
had to thump my head against the smoke 
house in order to smash him ; and I had to 
comb him out with a fine comb, and wear 
a waste-paper basket two weeks for a hat. 
Much has been said of the hornet ; but he 
has an odd, quaint way after all, that is for- 
ever new. 

K. W. Nye. 



TERRY O'MILLIGAN, THE IRISH PHILOSQ= 
PHER. 

Very amusing when recited by a professionally dressed gen- 
tleman who can imitate correctly the Irish brogue. 

LADIES and gentlemen : I see so many 
foine lookin' people sittin' before me, 
that if you'll excuse me I'll be after 
takin' a seat meself. You don't know me, 
I'm thinkin' , as some of yees 'ud be noddin' 
to me afore this. I'm a walkin' pedestrian, 
a traveling philosopher. Terry O'Milli- 
gan's me name. I'm from Dublin, where 
many philosophers before me was raised 
and bred. Oh, philosophy is a foine study ! 
I don't know anything about it, but it's a 
foine study ! Before I kim over I attended 
an important meetin' of philosophers in 
Dublin, and the discussin' and talkin' 
you'd hear there about the world 'ud warm 
the very heart of Socrates or Aristotle 



himself. Well, there was a great many 
imminent and learned min there at the 
meetin', and I was there too, and while we 
was in the very thickest of a heated argu- 
ment, one comes up to me and says he : 
" Do you know what we're talkin' about ? " 
"I do," says I, "but I don't understand 



yees. 



Could ye explain the sun's motion 



around the earth?" says he. "I could," 
says I, "but I'd not know could you 
understand or not." "Well, says he, 
" we'll see," says he. Sure'n I didn't 
know anything how to get out of it then, 
so I piled in, "for," says I, to myself, 
"never let on to any one that you don't 
know anything, but make them believe that 
you do know all about it." So I says to 
him, takin' up me shillalah this way (hold- 
ing a very crooked stick perpendicular), 
"We'll take that for the straight line of 
the earth's equator ' ' — how's that for gohog- 
raphy? (to the audience). Ah, that was 
straight till the other day I bent it in an 
argument. " Wery good," says he. 
" Well," says I, " now the sun rises in the 
east ' ' (placing the disengaged hand at the 
east end of the stick). Well, he couldn't 
deny that. " And when he gets up he 

' Darts his rosy beams 
Through the morning gleams.' 

Do you moind the poetry there ? (to the 
audience, with a smile). "And he keeps 
on risin' and risin' till he reaches his 
meriden." "What's that?" says he. 
" His dinner-tonne," says I ; " sure that's 
my L,atin for dinner- toime, and when he 
gets his dinner 

' He sinks to rest 

Behind the glorious hills of the West.' 

Oh, begorra, there's more poetry! I fail it 
creepin' out all over me." " There," says 
I, well satisfied with myself; " will that do 
for ye ? " You haven't got done with him 
yet," says he. " Done with him," says I, 
kinder mad-like, " what more do you want 
me to do with him? Didn't I bring him 
from the east to the west ? What more do 
you want?" "Oh," says he, "you'll 
have to bring him back again to the east to 
rise next mornin'." 

By Saint Patrick! and wasn't I near 
betrayin' me ignorance ? Sure'n I thought 
there was a large family of suns, and they 



234 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



rise one after the other. But I gathered 
meself quick, and, says I to him, " Well," 
says I, ''I'm surprised you axed me that 
simple question. I thought any man 'ud 
know," says I, "when the sun sinks to 
rest in the west — when the sun — " says I. 
" You said that before," says he. " Well, 
I want to press it stronger upon you," says 
I. "When the sun sinks to rest in the 
east — no, west — why, he — why, he waits 
till it grows dark, and then he goes back in 
the noight toime ! ' 



THE PHOTOGRAPH ALBUM. 

A character sketch, given with best effect when in costume, 
an album being held in the hand and the leaves turned as the 
piece progresses. 

Good- afternoon, Miss Robbins. Come 
to see the funer'l pass, I s'pose. It's 
been very lively in town these two 
weeks you've been away ; there's been five 
funer'ls and three vandues, and two small- 
pox cases. I must remember and tell you 
all the partickelers. In the fust place, Sam 
Tunison and his wife's separated, for they 
didn't walk together at his mother's funer'l 
and that's always a sure sign. And Billy 
Peters' wife was glad when the poor old 
soul died, for she didn't take it hard at all, 
didn't cry or go on a bit, as far as I could 
see. And'Zekiel Acker rode in the fust 
carriage along with the minister, and his 
wife's folks in the second carriage. It don't 
seem to me that that was the proper thing 
to do. 

Will you look at the paper, Miss Rob- 
bins ? It ain't much good ; I guess I'll stop 
it. Ain't never hardly any deaths in any 
more, nor no family troubles. Don't care 
for the paper, eh ? Well, here's the phothy- 
graph album. There's father and mother — 
beats all how old-fashioned pictures do git 
to look in a few short years. And there's 
our old minister — sich excellent doctrinal 
sermons as he used to preach ; and then to 
think he'd go and leave us and go all the 
way to Spring Hook, Nebrasky, jist for a 
raise of a hundred and fifty a year on to his 
salary ! What a savin' woman his wife 
used to be ! and she had to be, to be sure — 
sich an everlastin' family of children as 
they did have ! There, that's the woman 
what was hung for killin' five husbands — 



two of 'em she pizened and two she choked 
and one she killed with the gridiron when she 
was fryin ' flapj acks . I had to pay fifty cents 
for that picter; thought I must mave it. 
There's Will'm Henery's half-sister's son's 
little boy — jist got on pants and feels very 
big, of course. There, that's me when I 
was fust married — Jemimy Day's step- 
daughter, she had the imperdence to say it 
flattered me — she was as homely as a brush- 
fence. There, that's the man I was a tellin' 
you of — the man Sal Simpson led such a 
life, finally left him, and, without even so 
much as a divorce, went "and married his 
second cousin's wife's half-brother, all the 
worse for bein' in the family. There's the 
Siamese Twins, and there's Tom Thumb 
and his wife. And there's Abe Linkum, 
and there's the fat woman — cost me twenty- 
five cents to see that onct in York. There, 
that's that poor Miss Smith what died with 
sich a terrible cancer — how thankful we had 
all ought to be that we ain't got no cancers ! 
Sich a operation as she had to go through 
with — cost six hundred dollars, and then 
warn't no good after all. I'd a demanded 
the money back if I'd a been Sam ; but for 
that matter, like as not he was glad she 
died, went and married that young thing I 
was a tellin' you of before she was cold. 
A high time she'll have with them step- 
children of hern ! Poor Miss Smith ! — it's 
likely though she's better off, though they 
do say she was most awful mean about givin' 
to missions in Chiny — thought the heathen 
warn't accountable as long as they hadn't 
heard nothin'. Amazin' queer what no- 
tions some people gits into their heads these 
days ! And here's poor Mariar Matilda 
Jinkins — beats all what amazin' fine pump- 
kinpies she used to make ! She was 
always a goin' to give me her receipt. Poor 
thing ! now she's gone ! There, that's the 
last. What a satisfaction and comfort al- 
bums are, to be sure ! 

ElvIvA Bevier. 



ZEB WHITE'S UNLUCKY ARGUMENT. 

A Backwood's Character Sketch, 
i i /^\ne mawning at the breakfast table," 
\^J said the old possum hunter as I 
asked him for a yarn, " me ancl 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



235 



the old woman got into a jaw 'bout coons. 
I held to it that all coons orter hev bin bob- 
tailed, an' she contended that the I^awd 
made 'em as he wanted 'em an' did a good 
job. We wasn't mad at fust, but the mo' we 
talked the meaner we felt, an' bimeby 
we got downright ugly. It was Sunday 
mawnin', an' we was goin' off to preachin' 
that day, but when I got my mad up I 
said : — 

" ' As long as I'm fur bob tailed coons an' 
the L,awd didn't make 'em that way it ain't 
no use fur me to hear preachin'. I'll stay 
home, and yo' kin go alone.' 

' ' I reckoned that would cool her off a 
bit, but it didn't. She chawed away at her 
bacon fur awhile an' then said : — 

' ' ' Zeb White, thar 's bound to be a calam- 
ity around this cabin. Can't nobody find 
fault the way yo' do without sun thin' hap- 
penin'. I'm goin J right along to preachin', 
an' if yo' want to fly in the face of Provi- 
dence yo' must take the consequences.' 

"'I'm contendin' fur bob tailed coons,' 
said I. ' If all coons was bobtailed, they'd 
look a heap purtier an' git along a heap 
better.' 

" ' But how kin they be when it's all 
fixed ? ' 

" ' Dunno, but I'm contendin'.' 

" ' Then yo' keep on contendin' and see 
how yo'll come out. Thar's bobtailed var- 
mints in the mountings, and mebbe yo'll 
git 'nuff of them befo' yo' git through 
abusin' Providence.' 

" If she'd coaxed me a bit, I'd hey gone 
with her," explained Zeb, "but she'd said 
all she meant to. When she got ready, she 
started off through the woods an' never 
even looked at me. My rifle was out of 
order, an' my old dawg had ran away, an' so 
I couldn't go strollin' through the woods. 
I sot down on the doahstep an' smoked a 
pipe or two, an' as it was a warm day I 
begun to feel sleepy. 

" I went over and stumbled on to the 
bed, an' it wasn't five minits befo' I was 
sound asleep. The doah was left wide open, 
an' 'bout the last thing I heard befo' I drap- 
ped off was the old mewl brayin' in the 
stable. I'd been asleep an hour when sum- 
thin' crowded me over ag'in the wall, and I 
woke up. I opened my eyes to find a big 



b'ar on the bed with me. He'd found the 
doah open an' walked in, an' seein' me 
asleep, he sot out to hev some fun. He 
didn't see me open my eyes, an' I took keer 
to shet 'em ag'in arter one look. 

" Befo' the Lawd but I was skeered ! I 
felt de cold chills creepin' up an' down my 
back, an' the sweat busted out on me as if 
I was choppin' at a big tree. 

' ' I had found fault with the L,awd fur not 
making bobtailed coons, ' ' continued the old 
man as he refilled his pipe, "an'a bobtailed 
b'ar had been sent in revenge. It wasn't 
no use to think of jumpin' up or fightin' 
him. He had all the advantage, an' if I 
made him mad he'd finish me up in a minit. 
My game was to play possum on him, but 
I hope I shall never hev sich another two 
hours while I live. 

" That b'ar wanted a good time. He was 
feelin' good natured, and he jest tried all 
sorts of circus tricks with me. He'd roll 
me over ag'in the wall with a bang, an' 
then arter a chuckle he'd roll me back with 
a flop. He didn't bite at all, but every time 
he put his claws on to me they went through 
the cloth. I believe that varmint turned 
me over fifty times befo' he got a little tired 
of it. 

"I was playin' dead all the time an' 
didn't know what minit he'd git mad an' 
set out to finish me. He finally got thirsty 
an' jumped off the bed an' went to the 
water pail on the bench an' lapped away 
fur ten minits. I had my eyes open all the 
time an' was anxious to git away, But I 
was afeared of him. I couldn't fight him 
barehanded an' stand any show. 

"I jest laid thar till the varmint had 
quenched his thirst an' looked around, an' 
then he come back ag'in. The circus was 
only half over. 

' ' He was so rough at times that I almost 
yelled out with the pain, an' between the 
clawin' an' the skeer I wasn't much bet- 
ter than a dead man. The mewl smelt 
of b'ar an' kept up a tremendous brayin', 
an' the old woman heard the noise when she 
was yit a mile away. Bimeby, when the 
varmint had had a show with the price of 
admission, he settled down for a rest. 

' ' I was then lyin' with my face to the 
wall, an' he planted all four feet ag'in my 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



back an' kept up a sort of purrin' . He had 
me crowded ag'in the cabin logs till I could 
hardly breathe, an' I had made up my mind 
that I'd never tree another coon when the 
old woman got back from preachin' . 

" The old mewl \ was kickin' an' bray in', 
an' she seen the tracks of the b'ar leadin' 
into the cabin. She stood in the doah an' 
got sight of the varmint on the bed, an' 
she did a thing which no man on these 
yere Cumberland mountings would hev 
attempted. 

' Thar was no gun at hand to shoot with, 
an' her only show was to take that b'ar by 
surprise. That's what she did. She tip- 
toed up to the bed an' fastened her fingers 
in his fur, an' though he was a hefty load, 
she carried him to the doah and dumped 
him out. I never knowed she was home till 
she pulled the b'ar away. As I riz up the 
astonished varmint was makin' fur the 
woods, while the old woman hadn't even 
turned pale. 

" ' Was — was it a b'ar ? ' I asked as she 
took off her sunbonnet an' began to clatter 
the stove. 

" ' Of co'se,' she keerlessly replied. 

" ' An' what did yo' do with him ? ' 

" ' Jest dumped him outdoahs. 'Pears to 
me yo've bin hevin' heaps of fun. Most of 
yo'r clothes hev bin clawed off, the bed- 
quilts chawed to rags, an' yo' ar' blood 
from head to heel. Mebbe yo' was learnin' 
that b'ar a lot of tricks ? ' ' 

' ' I tried to git out of bed to hug her an' 
praise her spunk," explained Zeb to me, 
' ' but I was so weak that I fell down . She 
never let on to mind me, an' I had to help 
myself up. Bimeby I got over to a cheer 
an' dropped into it an' asked : — 

" ' Did yo' find the preachin', an' was it 
good ? ' 

"Powerful good,' she answerd, 'but it 
wasn't 'bout coons or b'ars. Anything 
wan tin' of me befo' I puts the kittle on ? ' 

1 ' I'm wantin' yo' to help me doctor 
up 'bout fo' hundred scratches, an' I'm also 
wantin' to be forgiven for my remarks 'bout 
coons.' 

"'How is it, Zeb?' she said, as she 
turned on me. ' When de Lawd dun put a 
long tail on a coon, was it fur the likes of 
pore human critters to kick about it ? ' 



" ' Reckon not — not skassly.' 

" ' An' how 'bout b'ars ? Mebbe yo' find 
fault bekase the Lawd made 'em bob- 
tailed ? ' 

'"I haven't a word to say a' gin it.' 

" ' Jest goin 1 to let the long tails an' the 
bobtails ramble around as the I^awd made 
'em to ramble? ' 

" 'That's it.' 

' ' ' An goin' to hear preachin' when thar 
is preachin' at the skulehouse ? ' ' 

" ' Fur suah.' 

" ' Then I'll warm up some coon's fat an' 
grease your hurts, and yo' jest let this be a 
powerful warnin' to yo' not to find any mo' 
fault with the Lawd's way of doin' things. It 
was fur Him to put long tails on coons an' 
foxes, an' bobtails on b'ars an' wildcats, 
an' yo' jest keep yo'r gab still 'bout it an' 
reckon' to consider that it was all fur the 
best.' " " Philadelphia Press." 



THE INTERVIEWER. 

Humerous reading. May be used as a dialogue 
by two properly dressed characters. 

The nervous, dapper, "peart" young 
man took the chair I offered him, and 
said he was connected with the Daily 
Thunderstorm, and added : 

" Hoping it's no harm, I've come to in- 
terview you." 

" Come to what?" 

" Interview you." 

"Ah! I see. Yes — yes. Um ! Yes — 
yes." 

I was not feeling well that morning. In- 
deed, my powers seemed a bit under a cloud. 
However, I went to the bookcase, and, when 
I had been looking six or seven minutes, 
found I was obliged to refer to the young 
man. I said : (If used as dialogue this 
part should be acted, not spoken, and the 
next question asked after an examination of 
the dictionary.) 

" How do you spell it ?" 

"Spell what?" 

" Interview." 

" Oh, my goodness ! What do you want 
to spell it for?" 

" I don't want to spell it, I want to see 
what it means,' 5 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



237 



" Well, this is astonishing, I must say. 
/" can tell you what it means, if you — if 
you " — 

" Oh, all right ! That will answer, and 
much obliged to you, too." 
" In, in, ter, ter inter " — 
" Then you spell it with an If " 
" Why, certainly !" 
" Oh, that is what took me so long !" 
"Why, my dear sir, what did you pro- 
pose to spell it with ?" 

"Well, I— I— I— hardly know. I had 
the Unabridged ; and I was ciphering around 
in the back end, hoping I might see her 
among the pictures. But it's a very old 
edition." 

" Why, my friend, they wouldn't have a 

picture of it even in the latest e My 

dear sir, I beg your pardon, I mean no 
harm in the world ; but you do not look as 
— as — intelligent as I had expected you 
would. No harm, — I mean no harm at all. " 
"Oh, don't mention it! It has often 
been said and by people who would not 
natter, and who could have no inducement 
to natter, that I am quite remarkable in that 
way. Yes — yes ; they always speak of it 
with rapture." 

" I can easily imagine it. But about this 
interview. You know it is the custom now 
to interview any man who has become 
notorious." 

" Indeed ! I had not heard of it before. 
It must be very interesting. What do you 
do with it?" 

" Ah, well — well — well — this is disheart- 
ening. It ought to be done with a club, in 
some cases ; but customarily it consists in 
the interviewer asking questions, and the 
interviewed answering them. It is all the 
rage now. Will you let me ask you certain 
questions calculated to bring out the salient 
points of your public and private history?" 
"Oh, with pleasure — with pleasure. I 
have a very bad memory ; but I hope you 
will not mind that. That is to say, it is an 
irregular memory, singularly irregular. 
Sometimes it goes into a gallop, and then 
again it will be as much as a fortnight 
passing a given point. This is a great grief 
to me." 

" Oh ! it is no matter, so you wJU try to 
clo the best you can,'* 



"I will. I will put my whole mind 
on it." 
" Thanks ! Are you ready to begin ?" 
"Ready." 

Question. How old are you ? 
Answer. Nineteen in June. 
Q. Indeed ! I would have taken you to 
be thirty-five or six. Where were you 
born ? 

A. In Missouri. 

Q. When did you begin to write ? 
A. In 1836. 

Q. Why, how could that be if you are 
only nineteen now ? 

A. I don't know. It does seem curious, 
somehow. 

Q. It does, indeed. Whom do you con- 
sider the most remarkable man you ever 
met ? 

A. Aaron Burr. 

Q. But you never could have met Aaron 
Burr if you are only nineteen years — 

A. Now, if you know more about me 
than I do, what do you ask me for ? 

Q. Well, it was only a suggestion ; noth- 
ing more. How did you happen to meet 
Burr? 

A. Well, I happened to be at his funeral 
one day ; and he asked me to make less 
noise, and — 

Q. But, good heavens ! If you were at his 
funeral he must have been dead ; and, if he 
was dead, how could he care whether you 
made a noise or not ? 

A. I don't know. He was always a 
particular kind of a man that way. 

O. Still, I don't understand it at all. You 
say he spoke to you, and that he was dead? 
A. I didn't say he was dead. 
Q. But wasn't he dead ? 
A. Well, some said he was, some said he 
wasn't. 

Q. What do you think ? 
A. Oh, it was none of my business ! It 
wasn't any of my funeral. 

Q. Did you — However, we can never get 
this matter straight. Iyet me ask you some- 
thing else. What was the date of your 
birth ? 

A. Monday, October 31, 1693. 
Q. What! Impossible! That would 
make you a hundred and eight years old, 
How do you account for that ? 



238 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



A. I don't account for it at all. 

Q. But you said at first you were only 
nineteen, and now you make yourself out 
to be one hundred and eight. It is an awful 
discrepancy. 

A. Why, have you noticed that ? (Shak- 
ing hands.) Many a time it has seemed to 
me like a discrepancy ; but somehow I 
couldn't make up my mind. How quick 
you notice a thing. 

Q. Thank you for the compliment, as far 
as it goes. Had you, or have you any 
brothers or sisters ? 

A. Eh ! I— I— I think so, — yes— but I 
don't remember. 

Q. Well, that is the most extraordinary 
statement I ever heard. 

A. Why, what makes you think that ? 

Q. How could I think otherwise? Why, 
look here ! Who is this picture on the wall ? 
Isn't that a brother of yours ? 

A. Oh, yes, yes ! Now you remind me of 
it, that was a brother of mine. That's 
William, Bill, we called him. Poor old 
Bill. 

Q. Why, he is dead then ? 

A. Ah, well, I suppose so. We never 
could tell. There was a great mystery 
about it. 

Q. That is sad, very sad. He disappeared 
then ? 

A. Well, yes, in a sort of general way. 
We buried him. 

Q. Buried him ! Buried him without 
knowing whether he was dead or not ? 

A. Oh, no ! Not that. He was dead 
enough. 

Q. Well, I confess that I can't under- 
stand this. If you buried him, and you 
knew he was dead — 

A. No, no ! We only thought he was. 

Q. Oh, I see ! He came to life again. 

A. I bet he didn't. 

Q. Well, I never heard anything like 
this. Somebody was dead. Somebody was 
buried. Now, where was the mystery ? 

A. Ah, that's just it ! That's it exactly ! 
You see we were twins, — defunct and I ; 
and we got mixed in the bath tub when we 
were only two weeks old, and one of us was 
drowned. But we didn't know which. 
Some think it was Bill ; Some think it 
was me. 



Q. Well, that is remarkable. What do 
you think ? 

A. Goodness knows ? I would give whole 
worlds to know. This solemn, this awful 
mystery has cast a gloom over my whole 
life. But I will tell you a secret now, 
which I never have revealed to any creature 
before. One of us had a peculiar mark, a 
large mole on the back of his left hand : 
that was me. That child was the one that 
was drowned ! 

O. Very well, then, I don't see that there 
is any mystery about it, after all. 

A. You don't. Well I do. Anyway, 
I don't see how they could ever have been 
such a blundering lot as to go and bury the 
wrong child. But 'sh ! don't mention it 
where the family can hear it. Heaven 
knows they have heart-breaking troubles 
enough without adding this. 

Q. Well, I believe I have got material 
enough for the present ; and I am very 
much obliged to you for the pains you have 
taken. But I was a good deal interested in 
that account of Aaron Burr's funeral. 
Would you mind telling me what particular 
circumstance it was that made you think 
Burr was such a remarkable man ? 

A. Oh, it was a mere trifle ! Not one 
man in fifty would have noticed it at all. 
When the sermon was over, and the pro- 
cession all ready to start for the cemetery, 
and the body all arranged nice in the hearse, 
he said he wanted to take a last look at the 
scenery ; and so he got tip, and rode with the 
driver. 

The young man reverently withdrew. 
He was very pleasant company ; and I was 
sorry to see him go. 

Mark Twain. 



MISS MALONY ON THE CHINESE QUESTION. 

Irish Dialect. 

Och ! don't be talkin'. Is it howld on, ye 
say? An' didn't I howld on till the 
heart of me was clane broke intirely, 
and me wastin' that thin you could clutch 
me wid yer two hands ! To think o' me toilin' 
like a nager for the six year I've been in 
Ameriky — bad luck to the day I iver left 
the owld counthry, to be bate by the likes 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



239 



o' them ! (faix an' I'll sit down when I'm 
ready, so I will, Ann Ryan, an' ye'd better 
be listenin' than drawin' your remarks), an' 
it's mysel' with five good characters from 
respectable places, would be herdin' wid 
the haythens ? The saints forgive me, but 
I'd be buried alive soon'n put up wid it a 
day longer. Sure an' I was a granehorn 
not to be lavin' at onct when the missus 
kim into me kitchen wid her perlaver about 
the new waiterman which was brought out 
from Californy. " He'll be here the night," 
says she, "and, Kitty, it's meself looks to 
you to be kind and patient wid him, for 
he's a furriner," says she, a kind o' looking 
off. "Sure an' it's little I'll hinder nor 
interfare wid him nor any other, mum," 
says I, a kind o' stiff, for I minded me how 
these French waiters, wid their paper 
collars and brass rings on their fingers, 
isn't company for no gurril brought up 
dacint and honest. Och ! sorra a bit I 
knew what was comin' till the missus 
walked into me kitchen smilin', an' says, 
kind o' sheared : 

"Here's Fing Wing, Kitty, an' you'll 
have too much sinse to mind his bein' a 
little strange," Wid that she shoots the 
doore ; and I, misthrusting if I was tidied 
up sufficient for me fine buy wid his paper 
collar, looks up and, holy fathers ! may I 
niver brathe another breath, but there stud 
a rale hay thin Chineser a-grinnin' like he'd 
just come off a tay-box. If you'll belave 
me, the crayture was that yeller it 'ud 
sicken you to see him ; and sorra stitch 
was on him but a black night gown over 
his trowsers and the front of his head 
shaved cianer ner a copper biler, and a 
black tail a hanging down from behind, 
wid his two feet stook into the heathenest 
shoes you ever set eyes on. Och ! but I 
was upstairs afore you could turn about, 
a-givin the missus warning ; an' only stopt 
wid her by her raisin' me wages two dollars, 
and playdin' wid me how it was a Chris- 
tian's duty to bear wid hay-thins and taitch 
'em all in our powe — the saints save us ! 
Well, the ways and trials I had wid that 
Chineser, Ann Ryan, I couldn't be tellin.' 
Not a blessed thing cud I do but he'd be 
lookin' on wid his eyes cocked up'ard like 
two poomp-handles, an' he widdout a 



speck or a smitch o' whiskers on him, and 
his fingernails full a yard long. But it's 
dying you'd be to see the missus a-larnin' 
him, and he grinnin' an' waggin' his pig- 
tail (which was pieced out long wid some 
black stoof, the hay then chate !) and gettin' 
into her ways wonderful quick, I don't 
deny, imitatin' that sharp you'd be shur- 
prised, and ketchin' and copyin' things the 
best of us will do a- hurried wid work, yet 
don't want comin' to the knowledge of the 
family — bad luck to him i 

Is it ate wid him ? Arrah, an' would I 
be sittin' wid a haythen and he a-atin wid 
drumsticks — yes, an' atin' dogs an' cats 
unknownst to me, I warrant you, which is 
the custom of them Chinesers, till the 
thought made me that sick I could die. 
An' didn't the crayter proffer to help me 
a wake ago come Toosday, an' me a-foldin' 
down me clane clothes for theironin', an' 
fill his haythen mouth wid water, an' afore 
I could hinder, squrrit it througli his teeth 
stret over the best linen table cloth, and 
fold it up tight as innercent now as a baby, 
the dirty baste ! But the worrest of all was 
the copyin' he'd be doin' till ye'd be dish- 
tracted. It's yerself knows the tinder feet 
that's on me since ever I've been in this 
country. Well, owin' to that, I fell into 
the way o' slippin' me shoes off when I'd 
be settin' down to pale the praties or the likes 
o' that, and, do ye mind, that haythen 
would do the same thing after me whiniver 
the missus set him parin' apples or toma- 
terses. The saints in heaven couldn't have 
made him belave he could kape the shoes 
on him when he'd be payling anything. 

Did I lave fur that ? Faix: an' didn't he 
get me into trouble wid my missus, the 
haythih ! You're aware yerself how the 
boondles comin' in from the grocery often 
contains more'n' 11 go into anything dacently. 
So, for that matter, I'd now and then take 
out a sup o' sugar, or flour, or tay, an' wrap 
it in paper an ' put it in me bit of a box tucked 
under the ironin' blankit the how itcuddent 
be bodderin' any one. Well, what should it 
be, but this blessed Sathurday morn the 
missus was a spakin' pleasant and respec'- 
ful wid me in me kitchen when the grocer 
boy comes in an' stands fornenst her wid 
his boondles, an' she motions like to Fing 



240 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



Wing (which I never would call him by that 
name nor any other but just hay thin), she 
motions to him, she does, for to take the 
boondles an' empty out the sugar an' 
what not where they belongs. If you'll 
belave me, Ann Ryan, what did that blath- 
erin' Chineser do but take out a sup o' 
sugar an' a handful o' tay , an' a bit o' chaze, 
right afore the missus, wrap them into bits 
o' paper, an' I spachless wid shurprise, an' 
he the next minute up wid the ironin' blankit 
and pullin' out me box wid a show o' 
bein' sly, put them in. Och ! the Lord forgive 
me, but I clutched it, and the missus sayin' , 
" O Kitty ! " in a way that 'ud curdle your 
blood. "He's a hay thin nager," says I, 
" I ' ve found you out . ' ' says she . "I'll arrist 
him," says I. " It's you who ought to be ar- 
risted," says she. " You won't," says I. "I 
will," says she ; and so it went till she gave 
me such sass as I cuddent take from no 
lady, an' I give her warnin' an' left that 
instant, and she a-pointin' to the doore. 

Mary Mapbs Dodge.* 



MRS. CAUDLE HAS TAKEN COLD. 

I'm not gaing to contradict you, Caudle; 
you may say what you like, but I think I 
ought to know my own feelings better 
than you. I dont wish to upbraid you, 
neither ; I'm too ill for that; but it's not 
getting wet in thin shoes ; oh, no ! it's 
my mind, Caudle, my mind that's killing 
me. Oh, yes ! gruel indeed — you think 
gruel will cure a woman of anything ; 
and you know, too, how I hate it. Gruel 
can't reach what I suffer; but, of course, 
nobody is ever ill but yourself. Well I — I 
didn't mean to say that ; but when you talk 
in that way about thin shoes, a woman says, 
of course, what she dosen't mean; she can't 
help it. You've always gone on about my 
shoes, when I think I'm the fittest judge 
of what becomes me best. I dare say 
'twould be all the same to you if I put on 
ploughman's boots ; but I'm not going to 
make a figure of my feet, I can tell you. 
I've never got cold with the shoes I've worn 
yet, and 'tisn't likely I should begin now. 

No Caudle ; I wouldn't wish to say any- 
thing to accuse you : no, goodness knows, 
I wouldn't make you uncomfortable for the 



world — but the cold I've got I got ten years 
ago. I have never said anything about it — 
but it has never left me. Yes, ten years 
ago the day before yesterday. How can I 
recollect it ? Oh, very well ; women remem- 
ber things you never think of; poor souls ! 
They've good cause to do so. Ten years 
ago I was sitting up for you — there now, 
I'm not going to say anything to vex you, 
only do let me speak ; ten years ago I was 
waiting for you, and I fell asleep and the 
fire went out, and when I awoke I found I 
was sitting right in the draught of the key- 
hole. That was my death, Caudle, though 
don't let that make you uneasy, love ; for I 
don't think that you meant to do it. 

Ha! it's all very well for you to call it 
nonsense, and to lay your ill conduct upon 
my shoes, That's like a man, exactly ! 
There never was a man yet that killed his 
wife who couldn't give a good reason for it. 
No, I don't mean to say that you've killed 
me ; quite the reverse. Still there's never 
been a day that I haven't felt that key- 
hole. What? Why don't I have a doctor? 
What's the use of a doctor? Why should 
I put you to the expense ? Besides , I dare 
say you'll do very well without me, Caudle; 
yes, after a very little time, you won't miss 
me much — no man ever does. 

Peggy tells me Miss Prettyman called to- 
day. What of it? Nothing, of course. 
Yes, I know she heard I was ill, and that's 
why she came. A little indecent, I think, 
Mr. Caudle ; she might wait; I shan't be in 
her way long ; she may soon have the key of 
the caddy now. 

Ha ! Mr. Caudle, what's the use of your 
calling me your dearest soul now? Well, I 
do — I believe you. I dare say you do mean 
it; that is; I hope you do. Nevertheless, 
you can't expect I can be quiet in this bed, 
and think of that young woman — not, in- 
deed, that she's near so young as she gives 
herself out. I bear no malice towards her, 
Caudle,— not the least. Still I don't think 
I could lie at peace in my grave if — well, I 
won't say anything more about her, but you 
know what I mean. 

I think dear mother would keep house 
beautifully for you when I'm gone. Well, 
love, I won't talk in that way, if you desire 
it. Still, I know I've a dreadful cold; 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



Hi 



though I won't allow it for a minute to be 
the shoes — certainly not. I never would 
wear e'm thick, and you know it, and they 
never gave me a cold yet. No, dearest 
Caudle, it's ten years ago that did it ; not 
that I'll say a syllable of the matter to hurt 
you. I'd die first. 

Mother, you see, knows all your little 
ways ; and you wouldn't get another wife to 
study you and pet you up as I've done — a 
second wife never does ; it isn't likely she 
should. And, after all, we've been very 
happy. It hasn't been my fault if we've 
ever had a word or two, for you couldn't 
help now and then being aggravating ; 
nobody can help their tempers always — 
especially men. Still, we've been very 
happy — haven 7 we' Caudle f 

Good night. Yes, this cold does tear me 
to pieces ; but for all that, it isn't the shoes. 
God bless you, Caudle ; no — it's not the 
shoes. I won't say it's the keyhole ; but 
again I say, it's not the shoes. God bless 
yon once more. But never say it's the 
shoes. 

DOUGLAS JKRROUX 



ELDER LAMB'S DONATION. 

Good at Church or Sunday School Entertainment. 

Good old Elder Lamb had labored for a 
thousand nights and days, 
And had preached the blessed Bible in 

a multitude of ways ; 
Had received a message daily over Faith's 

celestial wire, 
And had kept his little chapel full of flames 

of heavenly fire ; 
He had raised a num'rous family, straight 

and sturdy as he could 
And his boys were all considered as un- 
naturally good ; 
And his "slender sal'ry" kept him till 

went forth the proclamation, 
' ' We will pay him up this season with a 

gen'rous, large donation." 

So they brought him hay and barley, and 
some corn upon the ear, 

Straw enough to bed his pony for forever 
and a year ; 

And they strewed him with potatoes of in- 
consequential size, 



And some onions whose completeness drew 
the moisture from his eyes ; 

And some cider — more like water, in an in- 
ventory strict ; 

And some apples, pears, and peaches, that 
the autumn gales had picked ; 

And some strings of dried-up apples — mum- 
mies of the fruit creation — 

Came to swell the doleful census of old Elder 
Lamb's donation. 

Also radishes and turnips pressed the pump- 
kin's cheerful cheek, 
Likewise beans enough to furnish half of 

Boston for a week ; 
And some butter that was worthy to have 

Samson for a foe, 
And some eggs whose inner nature held the 

legend, " Long ago !" 
And some stove- wood, green and crooked, 

on his flower-beds was laid, 
Fit to furnish fire departments with the most 

substantial aid. 
All things unappreciated found this night 

their true vocation 
In the Museum of Relics, known as Elder 

Lamb's donation. 

There were biscuits whose material was 

their own secure defense ; 
There were sauces whose acuteness bore the 

sad pluperfect tense ; 
There were jellies undissected, there were 

mystery-laden pies ; 
There was bread that long had waited for 

the signal to arise ; 
There were cookies tasting clearly of the 

drear and musty past ; 
There were doughnuts that in justice 

'mongst the metals might be classed; 
There were chickens, geese, and turkeys 

that had long been on probation, 
Now received in full connection at old Elder 

Lamb's donation. 

Then they gave his wife a wrapper made for 

some one not so tall, 
And they brought him twenty slippers, every 

pair of which was small ; 
And they covered him with sackcloth, as it 

were, in various bits, 
And they clothed his helpless children in a 

wardrobe of misfits ; 



242 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



And they trimmed his house with ' ' Wel- 
come, ' ' and some bric-a-bracish trash, 

And one absent-minded brother brought 
five dollars all in cash ! 

Which the good old pastor handled with a 
thrill of exultation, 

Wishing that in filthy lucre might have 
come his whole donation ! 

Morning came at last in splendor ; but the 

Elder, wrapped in gloom, 
Knelt amid decaying produce and the ruins 

of his home ; 
And his piety had never till that morning 

been so bright, 
For he prayed for those who brought him to 

that unexpected plight. 
But some worldly thoughts intruded, for he 

wondered o'er and o'er, 
If they'd buy that day at auction what they 

gave the night before ? 
And his fervent prayer concluded with the 

natural exclamation, 
"Take me to Thyself in mercy, Lord, be- 
fore my next donation." 

Will Carleton. 



A SCHOOL GIRL'S DECLARATION OF 

INDEPENDENCE. 

Suitable for Recitation or Reading at Closing 

Exercise of School. 

When in the course of human events it 
becomes necessary for the pupils of 
a school to dissolve the bands that 
connect them with their principal, and to 
assume, among the people of the earth, the 
free and equal station to which the laws of 
nature and nature's God entitle them, a 
decent respect for the opinions of said prin- 
cipal demands that they shall declare the 
causes that impel them to the separation. 

We hold these truths to be self-evident ; 
— that principals and girls are created 
equal ; that the latter are endowed with cer- 
tain inalienable rights : and among these 
are life, liberty, and the pursuit of no les- 
sons ; — and, whenever any form of school 
becomes destructive of these ends, it is the 
right of the girls to alter or abolish it, insti- 
tuting a new school, laying its foundation 
on such principles, and organizing its 
powers in such form, as to them shall seem 



most likely to secure their safety and hap- 
piness. 

Prudence, indeed, would dictate that 
schools long established should not be 
altered for light and transient causes ; and 
accordingly, all experience hath shown that 
girls are more disposed to suffer — while 
evils are sufferable — than to right them- 
selves by abolishing the forms to which 
they are accustomed. But when a long 
train of cramming and examinations pur- 
sues but one object, and that the establish- 
ment of an absolute ' ' Blimberism, ' ' in these 
classes, it is their right, it is their duty, to 
throw off such forms of school, and to pro- 
vide new guards for their future security. 

Such has been the patient sufferance of 
these poor girls, and such is now the sad 
necessity that constrains them to alter the 
forms to which they are accustomed. The 
history of the present management of the 
Blimber school has been a history of repeated 
cramming and examinations, having, as an 
indirect object, the establishment of an abso- 
lute " blue-stockingism " in these classes, 
and, to prove this we have submitted 
these facts to a candid world. 

We therefore, the representatives of the 
girls of the school, in general school-room 
assembled, do, in the name and by the 
authority of the girls of these classes, state 
that these classes are, and of right ought to 
be, free and independent ; that, in future, 
they shall have full right to go to school, 
stay at home, do their lessons or not, with 
other privileges which independent girls 
enjoy. And in support of this declaration, 
we mutually pledge to each other our lives, 
our chances of honorable graduation and 
our sacred excellence in deportment, 



EXPERIENCE WITH A REFRACTORY COW. 

To be most effective, this piece should be given in costume. 

WE used to keep a cow when we lived 
in the country, and sich a cow ! 
Law sakes ! Why, she used to 
come to be milked as reg'lar as clock-work. 
She'd knock at the gate with her horns, 
jest as sensible as any other human critter. 
Her name was Rose. I never knowed 
how she got that name, for she was black 
as a kittle. 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



243 



Well, one day Rose got sick, and wouldn't 
eat nothing, poor thing ! and a day or so 
arter she died. I raly do believe I cried 
when that poor critter was gone. Well, we 
went for a little spell without a cow, but I 
told Mr. Scruggins it wouldn't do, no way 
nor no how ; and he gin in. Whenever I 
said must Mr. Scruggins knowed I meant it. 
Well, a few days arter, he corne home with 
the finest cow and young calf you ever 
seed. He gin thirty dollars for her and the 
calf, and seventy -five cents to a man to help 
bring her home. 

Well, they drove her into the back yard, 
and Mr. Scruggins told me to come out 
and see her, and I did ; and I went up to 
her jest as I used to did to Rose, and when 
I said " Poor Sukey," would you believe 
it ? the nasty brute kicked me right in the 
fore part of my back ; her foot catched into 
my dress — bran-new dress, too — cost fifty 
cents a yard, and she took a dollar's worth 
right out as clean as the back of my hand. 

I screeched right out and Mr. Scruggins 
kotched me jest as I was dropping, and he 
carried me to the door, and I went in and 
sot down, I felt kind o' faintish, I was so 
abominable skeered. 

Mr. Scruggins said he would larn her 
better manners, so he picked up the poker 
and went out, but I had hardly began to 
get a leetle strengthened up afore in rushed 
my dear husband a-flourishing the poker, 
and that vicious cow arter him like all- mad. 
Mr. Scruggins jumped into the room, and, 
afore he had time to turn round and shut 
the door, that desperate brute was in, too. 

Mr. Scruggins got up on the dining-room 
table, and I run into the parlor. I thought 
I'd be safe there, but I was skeered so bad 
that I forgot to shut the door, and, sakes 
alive ! after hooking over the dining-room 
table and rolling Mr. Scruggins off, in she 
walked into the parlor, shaking her head as 
much as to say: "I'll give you a touch 
now." I jumped on a chair, but thinking 
that warn't high enough, I got one foot on 
the brass knob of the Franklin stove, and 
put the other on the mantel-piece. You 
ought to ha' seen that cow in our parlor ; 
she looked all round as if she was 'mazed ; 
at last she looked in the looking-glass, and 
thought she seed another cow exhibiting 



anger like herself ; she shuck her head and 
pawed the carpet, and so did her reflection, 
and — would you believe it? — that awful 
brute went right into my looking-glass. 

Then I boo-hoo'd right out. All this 
while I was getting agonized ; the brass 
knob on the stove got so hot that I had to 
sit on the narrer mantel -piece and hold on 
to nothing. I dussent move for fear I'd 
slip off. 

Mr. Scruggins came round to the front 
door, but it was locked, and then he come 
to the window and opened it. I jumped 
down and run for the window, and hadn't 
more'n got my head out afore I heard that 
critter a-coming after me. Gracious ! but 
I was in a hurry ; more haste, less speed, 
always ; for the more I tried to climb quick 
the longer it took, and just as I got ready 
to jump down, that brute of a cow kotched 
me in the back and turned me over and 
over out of the window. 

Well, when I got right side up, I looked 
at the window and there stood that cow, 
with her head between the white and red 
curtains, and another piece of my dress 
dangling on her horns. 

Well, my husband and me was jest start- 
ing for the little alley that runs alongside of 
the house, when the cow give a bawl, and 
out of the window she come, whisking her 
tail, which had kotched fire on the Frank- 
lin stove, and it served her right. 
Mr. Scruggins and me run into the alley in 
such haste we got wedged fast. Husband 
tried .0 get ahead, but I'd been in the rear 
long enough, and I wouldn't let him. That 
dreadful cow no sooner seen us in the alley, 
than she made a dash, but thank goodness ! 
she stuck fast, too. 

Husband tried the gate, but that was fast, 
and there wasn't nobody inside the house 
to open it. Mr. Scruggins wanted to climb 
over and unbolt it, but I wouldn't let him. 
I wasn't going to be left alone again with 
that desperate cow, even if she was fast ; so 
I made him help me over the gate. Oh, 
dear, climbing a high gate when you're 
skeered by a cow is a dreadful thing, and I 
know it ! 

Well, I got over, let husband in, and then 
it took him and me and four other neigh- 
bors to get that dreadful critter out of the 



244 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 



alley . She bellowed and kicked , and her calf 
bellowed to her, and she bawled back again ; 
but we got her out at last, and such a time ! 
I'd had enough of her; husband sold her 
for twenty dollars next day. It cost him 
seventy-five cents to get her to market, and 
when he tried to pass off one of the five 
dollar bills he got, it turned out to be 
a counterfeit. 

Mr. Scruggins said to his dying day that 
he believed the brother of the man that sold 
him the cow bought it back again . I be- 
lieve it helped to worry my poor husband 
into his grave. Ah, my friends, you better 
believe I know what a cow is. I don't need 
an introduction to any female of the cow 
species. 

REQUIEM ON THE AHKOOND OF SWAT. 

This strange conglomeration of words was suggested to the 
comical brain of Mr. Lanigan by the following announcement in 
the London Times : " The Ahkoond of Swat is Dead." Swat is 
a city in India and the Ahkoond is a great Civic dignitary. 

4CTTThat, what, what, what, what, 
VV what! 

What's the news from Swat? 

Sad news, 

Bad news, 
Comes by the cable led 
Through the Indian Ocean's bed, 
Through the Persian Gulf, the Red 
Sea and the Med- 
iterranean — he's dead ; 
The Ahkoond is dead ! 

' ' For the Akoond I mourn ; 

Who wouldn't? 
He strove to disregard the message stern, 

But he Ahkoodn't. 
Dead, dead, dead ; 

(Sorrow Swats ? ) 



Swats wha hae wi' Ahkoond bled, 
Swats whom he hath often led 
Onward to a gory bed, 

Or to victory 

As the case might be ! 

Sorrow Swats ! 
Tears shed. 

Shed tears like water, 
Your great Ahkoond is dead, 

That Swat's the matter. 

" Mourn, city of Swat, 

Your great Ahkoond is not, 

But lain 'mid worms to rot, 

His mortal part alone, his soul was caught 

(Because he was a good Ahkoond) 

Up to the bosom of Mahound. 
Though earthy walls his frame surround 
(Forever hallowed be the ground ! ) 
And say " He's now of no Ahkoond ! " 

His soul is in the skies — 
The azure skies that bend above his loved 

Metropolis of Swat. 
He sees with larger, other eyes, 
Athwart all earthly mysteries — 

He knows what's Swat. 

' ' Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond 

With a noise of mourning and of lamenta- 
tion ! 
Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond 

With a noise of the mourning of the 
Swattish nation ! 
Fallen is at length 
Its tower of strength, 
Its sun is dimmed ere it had nooned ; 
Dead lies the great Ahkoond, 
The great Ahkoond of Swat 
Is not!" 

Geo. T. Lanigan. 



Part VII 

RELIGIOUS MORAL AND DIDACTIC 



'TTVek selections in this department while chosen with reference to special adaptation to 
reading and recitation are calculated to teach and inculcate those practical, social, 
moral and religious sentiments and truths which are broad, wholesome and acceptable 
in general to parents and to all religious denominations. 



MY CREED. 

I hold that Christian grace abounds 
Where charity is seen ; that when 
We climb to heaven, 'tis on the rounds 
Of love to men. 

I hold all else, named piety, 

A selfish scheme, a vain pretense ; 

Where center is not, can there be 
Circumference ! 

This I moreover hold, and dare 

Affirm where'er my rhyme may go, — 

Whatever things be sweet or fair, 
Love makes them so. 

Whether it be the lullabies 

That charm to rest the nursling bird, 
Or that sweet confidence of sighs 

And blushes, made without a word. 

Whether the dazzling and the flush 
Of softly sumptuous garden bowers, 

Or by some cabin door, a bush 
Of ragged flowers. 

'Tis not the wide phylactery, 

Nor stubborn fasts, nor stated prayers, 
That makes us saints ; we judge the tree 

By what it bears. 

And when a man can live apart 

From works, on theologic trust, 
I know the blood about his heart 

Is dry as dust. 

AuCK Cary. 

15 2 45 



THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER. 

FATHER of all, in every age, 
In every clime, adored, 
By saint, by savage and by sage, 
Jehovah, Jove, or Lord. 

Thou greet First Cause, least understood, 

Who all my sense confined 
To know but this, that Thou art good, 

And that myself am blind. 

Yet gave me in this dark estate 

To see the good from ill, 
And, binding nature fast in fate, 

Left free the human will. 

What conscience dictates to be done, 

Or warns me not to do, 
This teach me more than hell to shun, 

That more than heaven pursue. 

What blessings Thy free bounty gives 

Let me not cast away ; 
For God is paid when man receives — 

To enjoy is to obey. 

Yet not to earth's contracted span 

Thy goodness let me bound, 
Or think Thee Lord alone of man, 

When thousand worlds are round. 

Let not this weak, unknowing hand 

Presume Thy bolts to throw, 
And deal damnation round the land 

On each I judge Thy foe. 



246 



RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC 



If I am right, Thy grace impart 

Still in the right to stay ; 
If I am wrong, O teach my heart 

To find that better way. 

Save me alike from foolish pride 

Or impious discontent, 
At aught Thy wisdom has denied, 

Or aught Thy goodness lent. 

Alexander Pope. 



"GOD IS CALLING ME." 

On the Twenty-second day of December, 1899, Dwight L. 
Moody, the world's greatest Evangelist, died at his home at 
Northfield, Mass. The religious world mourned his loss as that 
of no other preacher of righteousness since the days of Jesus. 
His last words were " God is calling me." 

i i r^ od is calling me," he murmured. 
VJT Oh, what visions cheered his 
eyes 
As his eager spirit hastened 

To his home beyond the skies ! 
God had called him, oh, how often 

Had he listened to the call, 

Hastening to the field of action, 

Full of zeal and love for all ! 

How he prayed and how he labored, 

Seeking souls for Christ to win, 
Till his burning words have rescued 

Tens of thousands from their sin. 
We shall hear no more his pleading, 

For his prayer is turned to praise ; 
But we look for gracious answers 

Through the swiftly passing days. 

In his home, his church, his Northfield, 

Schools and missions grown world-wide, 
How they sorrowed for their leader 

On the blessed Christmas-tide ! 
But the work must go straight forward ! 

Never was there greater need. 
Well we know he would not falter 

Though his inmost soul might bleed. 

God is calling us, O Christians ! 

Do we heed the call to-day ? 
Are we eager for his service ? 

Do we labor, watch, and pray ? 
May our brother's life enthuse us, 

And the mantle he let fall 
Rest not only on his workers, 

But on Christians, one and all. 

Mary B. Wingate. 



THE CRUCIFIXION. 

I asked the heavens ; — " What foe to 
God has done 
This unexampled deed ? ' ' The heavens 
exclaim, 
" 'Twas man ; and we in horror snatched 
the sun 
From such a spectacle of guilt and 
shame." 
I asked the sea ; — the sea in fury boiled, 
And answered, with his voice of storms, — 
'Twas man 
My waves in panic at his crime recoiled, 
Disclosed the abyss, and from the center 
ran." 
I asked the earth ; — the earth replied, 
aghast, 
" 'Twas man; and such strange pangs 
my bosom rent, 
That still I groan and shudder at the past." 
To man, gay, smiling, thoughtless man, 
I went, 
And asked him next ; — he turned a scornful 
eye, 
Shook his proud head, and deigned me 
no reply. 

Montgomery. 



CLIPPING THE BIBLE. 

THERE is another class. It is quite fash- 
ionable for people to say, " Yes, I 
believe the Bible, but not the super- 
natural. I believe everything that corre- 
sponds with this reason of mine. ' ' They go 
on reading the Bible with a penknife, cutting 
out this and that. Now, if I have a right 
to cut out a certain portion of the Bible, I 
don't know why one of my friends has not 
a right to cut out another, and another 
friend to cut out another part, and so on. 
You would have a queer kind of Bible if 
everybody cut out what he wanted to. Every 
liar would cut out everything about lying ; 
every drunkard would be cutting out what 
he didn't like. Once, a gentleman took his 
Bible around to his minister's and said, 
" That is your Bible. ' ' ' ' Why do you call 
it my Bible?" said the minister. " Well," 
replied the gentleman , " I have been sitting 
under your preaching for five years, and 
when you said that a thing in the Bible was 



RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC 



247 



not authentic, I cut it out. ' ' He had about 
a third of the Bible cut out ; all of Job, all 
of Kcclesiastes and Revelation, and a good 
deal besides. The minister wanted him to 
leave the Bible with him ; he didn't want 
the rest of his congregation to see it. But 
the man said, <( Oh, no ! I have the covers 
left, and I will hold on to them." And off 
he went holding on to the covers. If you 
believed what some men preach, you would 
have nothing but the covers left in a few 
months. I have often said, that, if I am 
going to throw away the Bible, I will throw 
it all into the fire at once. There is no need 
of waiting five years to do what you 
can do as well at once. I have yet to find a 
man who begins to pick at the Bible that 
does not pick it all to pieces in a little while. 
A minister whom I met awhile ago said to 
me, " Moody, I have given up preaching 
except out of the four Gospels, I have 
given up all the Epistles, and all the Old 
Testament ; and I do not know why I can- 
not go to the fountain head and preach as 
Paul did. I believe the Gospels are all 
there is that is authentic." It was not long 
before he gave up the four Gospels, and 
finally gave up the ministry. He gave up 
the Bible, and God gave him up. 

D. L. Moody. 



THE CHRISTIAN MARTYR. 

TH£ eyes of thousands glanced on him, as 
mid the cirque he stood, 
Unheeding of the shout which broke 
from that vast multitude. 
The prison damps had paled his cheek, and 

on his lofty brow 
Corroding care had deeply traced the fur- 
rows of his plow. 

Amid the crowded cirque he stood, and 

raised to heaven his eye, 
For well that feeble old man knew they 

brought him forth to die ! 
Yet joy was beaming in that eye, while from 

his lips a prayer 
Passed up to Heaven, and faith secured his 

peaceful dwelling there. 

Then calmly on his foes he looked ; and, as 
he gazed, a tear 



Stole o'er his cheeks ; but 't was the birth 

of pity, not of fear. 
He knelt down on the gory sand — once 

more he looked toward heaven ; 
And to the Christian's God he prayed that 

they might be forgiven. 

But, hark ! another shout, o'er which the 

hungry lion's roar 
Is heard, like thunder, mid the swell on a 

tempestuous shore ! 
And forth the L,ibyan savage bursts — rolls 

his red eyes around ; 
Then on his helpless victim springs, and 

beats him to the ground. 

Short pause was left for hope or fear ; the 

instinctive love of life 
One struggle made, but vainly made, in 

such unequal strife ; 
Then with the scanty stream of life his jaws 

the savage dyed ; 
While, one by one, the quivering limbs his 

bloody feast supplied. 

Rome's prince and senators partook the 

shouting crowd's delight ; 
And Beauty gazed unshrinkingly on that 

unhallowed sight. 
But say, what evil had he done ? — what sin 

of deepest hue ? — 
A blameless faith was all the crime that 

Christian martyr knew ! 

But where his precious blood was spilt, even 

from that barren sand. 
There sprang a stem, whose vigorous 

boughs soon overspread the land : 
O'er distant isles its shadow fell ; nor knew 

its roots decay, 
Even when the Roman Caesar's throne and 

rule had passed away. 

RKv. Hamilton Buchanan. 



THE BROTHERHOOD OF MAN. 

AS the member of an infant empire, as a 
philanthropist by character, and, if I 
may be allowed the expression, as a 
citizen of the great republic of Humanity at 
large, I cannot help turning my attention 
sometimes to this subject, how mankind may 
be connected, like one great family ', in /rater- 



248 



RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC 



nal ties. I indulge a fond, perhaps an en- 
thusiastic idea, that as the world is evidently 
much less barbarous than it has been, its 
melioration must still be progressive ; that 
nations are becoming more humanized in 
their policy ; that the subjects of ambition 
and causes for hostility are daily diminish- 
ing ; and, in fine, that the period is not very 
remote when the benefits of a liberal and 
free commerce will pretty generally succeed 
to the devastations and horrors of war. 
George Washington. 



A NEW TEN COMMANDMENTS. 

1 . NEVER put off till to-morrow what you 
can do to-day. 

2 . Never trouble another for what you can 
do yourself. 

3. Never spend your money before you 
have it. 

4. Never buy what you do not want 
because it is cheap ; it will be dear to you. 

5 . Pride costs us more than hunger, thirst 
and cold. 

6. We never repent of having eaten too 
little. 

7 Nothing is troublesome that we do will- 
ingly. 

8. How much pain have cost us the evils 
that have never happened. 

9. Take things always by their smooth 
handle. 

1 o . When angry , count ten before you speak ; 
if very angry, an hundred. 

Thomas Jefferson. 



OH, WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OF 
MORTAL BE PROUD? 

This poem was written by William Knox, a countryman of 
Burns, like him somewhat dissipated at times, and like him dying 
fin 1825) at the early age of (about) thirty-seven. Sir Walter 
Scott and Professor Wilson thought highly of his poetic genius. 
It was Abraham Lincoln's favorite poem. 

OH, why should the spirit of mortal be 
proud ? 
L,ike a swift- fleeting meteor, a fast- 
flying cloud, 
A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave, 
Man passeth from life to his rest in the 
grave. 

The leaves of the oak and the willow shall 
fade, 



Be scattered around, and together be laid ; 
And the young and the old, and the low 

and the high, 
Shall moulder to dust, and together shall lie. 

The infant a mother attended and loved ; 
The mother that infant's affection who 

proved ; 
The husband that mother and infant who 

blest- 
Each, all, are away to their dwellings of 

rest. 

The hand of the king that the sceptre hath 

borne, 
The brow of the priest that the mitre hath 

worn, 
The eye of the sage and the heart of the 

brave, 
Are hidden and lost in the depths of the 

grave. 

The peasant whose lot was to sow and to 

reap, 
The herdsman who climbed with his goats 

up the steep, 
The beggar who wandered in search of his 

bread, 
Have faded away like the grass that we 

tread. 

So the multitude goes — like the flower or 

the weed 
That withers away to let others succeed ; 
So the multitude comes — even those we 

behold, 
To repeat every tale that has often been 

told. 

For we are the same our fathers have been ; 
We see the same sights our fathers have 

seen ; 
We drink the same stream, we view the 

same sun, 
And run the same course our fathers have 

run. 

The thoughts we are thinking, our fathers 

would think ; 
From the death we are shrinking, our 

fathers would shrink ; 
To the life we are clinging, they also would 

cling ; 
But it speeds from us all like a bird on the 

wing. 




THE MOTHER AND CHILD 

Bodenhausen's Masterpiece 



(249) 




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RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC 



251 



They loved — but the story we cannot unfold; 

They scorned — but the heart of the haughty 
is cold ; 

They grieved — but no wail from their slum- 
ber will come ; 

They joyed — but the tongue of their glad- 
ness is dumb. 

They died — ay, they died ; and we things 
that are now 

That walk on the turf that lies on their 
brow, 

And make in their dwellings a transient 
abode, 

Meet the changes they met on their pilgrim- 
age road. 

Yea ! hope and despondency, pleasure and 

pain, 
Are mingled together in sunshine and rain ; 
And the smile and the tear, the song and 

the dirge, 
Still follow each other, like surge upon 

surge. 

'Tis the wink of an eye, 'tis the draught of 

a breath, 
From the blossom of health to the paleness 

of death, 
From the gilded saloon to the bier and the 

shroud : 
Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be 

proud ? 

THE GLORIES OF THE LIFE BEYOND. 

I do not expect, the moment I drop this 
body, to mount up, glowing like a star, 
into the presence of God, with all the 
fullness of perfection that I am ever to 
attain. I expect that through period after 
period will go on unfolding, that spiritual 
germ which God has implanted in me. I 
expect by growth to become really and truly 
a son of God in those heavenly conditions. 
I cannot go further in affirming what my 
state shall be. But I know what happiness 
is. I know what love is. I know what the 
devotion of one soul to another is. I know 
how blessed it is for a person to be lost in 
one to whom he can look up. I know what 
it is to have in single hours glimpses of the 
presence of God. I have had them, that is, 
as a peasant has some sense of the ocean, 
who has only seen some inland lake, and 



cannot, even by a stretch of the imagina- 
tion, magnify that lake so as to make it the 
ocean, world-encompassing, and sounding 
with all the music of its storms. I have 
had some sight of God ; but I know it is 
like a little lake, as compared with a full 
vision of the infinite, shoreless, fathomless, 
measureless ocean of the divine nature. 
And I vShall be amazed, when I see it, that I 
ever knew anything about it. Yet I shall 
see it, and not another for me. I shall see 
God himself. And I shall be satisfied then 
for the first time in all my life. 

H. W. Bekchkr. 



THE BOOKS OF THE OLD TESTAflENT. 

The following rhymed list of the books of the Old Testament 
is said to have been made by Rev. Dr. William Staughton, pastor 
in Philadelphia, where he began the teaching of young men who 
felt their need of preparation before entering the ministry, and 
was active in the founding of the Columbian University at Wash- 
ington, of which he became the first piesident, in 1823 : 

The great Jehovah speaks to us 
In Genesis and Exodus ; 
Leviticus and Numbers, see, 
Followed by Deuteronomy. 
Joshua and Judges sway the land, 
Ruth gleans a sheaf with trembling hand. 
Samuel and numerous Kings appear, 
Whose Chronicles we wondering hear. 
Ezra and Nehemiah now, 
Esther the beauteous mourner show : 
Job speaks in sighs, David in Psalms, 
The Proverbs teach to scatter alms ; 
Ecclesiastes then come on, 
And the sweet songs of Solomon. 
Isaiah, Jeremiah, then 
With Lamentations takes his pen ; 
Ezekiel, Daniel, Hosea's lyres, 
Swell Joel, Amos, Obadiah's. 
Next Jonah, Micah, Nahum come, 
And lofty Habakkuk finds room ; 
While Zephaniah, Haggai calls, 
Rapt Zachariah builds his walls — 
And Malachi, with garments rent, 
Concludes the Ancient Testament. 



BUILDING AND BEING. 

Thk King would build, so a legend says, 
The finest of all fine palaces. 

He sent for St. Thomas, a builder rare, 
And bade him to rear them a wonder fair. 



RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC 



The King's great treasure was placed at 

hand 
And with it the sovereign's one command : 

" Build well, O builder, so good and great ! 
And add to the glory of my estate. 

"Build well, nor spare of my wealth to 

show 
A prouder palace than mortals know." 

The King took leave of his kingdom then, 
And wandered far from the haunts of men. 

St. Thomas the King's great treasure spent 
In worthier way than his master meant. 

He clad the naked, the hungry fed, 
The oil of gladness around him shed. 

He blessed them all with the ample store, 
As never a King's wealth blessed before. 

The King came back from his journey long, 
But found no grace in the happy throng 

That greeted him now on his slow return, 
To teach him the lesson he ought to learn. 

The King came back to his well-spent gold ; 
But no new palace could he behold. 

In terrible anger he swore, and said 
That the builder's folly should cost his 
head. 

St. Thomas in dungeon dark was cast, 
Till the time for his punishment dire were 
passed 

Then it chanced, or the good God willed 

it so, 
That the King's own brother in death lay 

low 

When four days dead, as the legend reads, 
He rose to humanity's life and needs. 

From sleep of the dust he strangely woke, 
And thus to his brother, the King, he 
spoke : 

" I have been to Paradise, O my King ! 
And have heard the heavenly angels sing. 

" And there I saw, by the gates of gold, 
A palace finer than tongue has told ; 



" Its walls and towers were lifted high 
In beautiful grace to the bending sky. 

" Its glories there, in that radiant place, 
Shone forth like a smile from the dear Lord's 
face. 

' ' An angel said it was builded there 

By the good St. Thomas, with love and care 

" For our fellow-men, and that it should be 
Thy palace of peace through eternity." 

The King this vison pondered well, 

Till he took St. Thomas from dungeon cell, 

And said, " O builder ! he most is wise 
Who buildeth ever for Paradise ! ' ' 

From " Geraldine. " 



BROUGHT IN PA'S PRAYERS. 

Once upon a time sickness came to the 
family of a poorly paid pastor of a 
rural church. It was winter, and the 
pastor was in financial straits. A number 
of his flock decided to meet at his house and 
offer prayers for the speedy recovery ol the 
sick ones, and for material blessings upon 
the pastor 's family . While one of the deacons 
was offering a fervent prayer for blessings 
upon the pastor's household there was a 
loud knock at the door. When the door 
was opened, a stout farmer boy was seen, 
wrapped up comfortably. 

" What do you want, boy? " asked one 
of the elders. 

"I've brought pa's prayers," replied 
the boy. 

"Brought pa's prayers? What do you 
mean ? ' ' 

" Yep, brought pa's prayers ; an' they re 
out in the wagon. Just help me an' we'll 
get 'em in." 

Investigation disclosed the fact that 
"pa's prayers" consisted of potatoes, 
flour, bacon, corn-meal, turnips, apples, 
warm clothing, and a lot of jellies for the 
sick ones. 

The prayer meeting adjourned in short 
order. 

" Missionary." 



RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC 



253 



HOW PRAYER WAS ANSWERED. 

Suitable for Church Entertainment. 



44 



M AD 



adam, we miss the train at B- 



But can't you make it, sir?" 
she gasped. 
" Impossible ; it leaves at three, 

And we are due a quarter past." 
" Is there no way ? Oh, tell me then, 

Are you a Christian ? " "I am not. ' ' 
' ' And are there none among the men 

Who run the train ? " " No — I forgot — 

I think this fellow over here, 
Oiling the engine, claims to be." 

She threw upon the engineer 
A fair face white with agony. 

II Are you a Christian ? " " Yes, I am." 
" Then, O sir, won't you pray with me, 

All the long way, that God will stay, 

That God will hold the train at B ? " 

" 'Twill do no good, it's due at three 

And" "Yes, but God can hold the 

train ; 
" My dying child is calling me, 

And I must see her face again. 
Oh, won 7 you pray? " "I will," a nod 

Emphatic, as he takes his place. 
When Christians grasp the arm of God 
They grasp the power that rules the rod. 

Out from the station swept the train, 

On time, swept on past wood and lea ; 
The engineer, with cheeks aflame, 

Prayed, "O Lord, hold the train at 

B ," 

Then flung the throttle wide, and like 

Some giant monster of the plain, 
With panting sides and mighty strides, 

Past hill and valley swept the train. 

A half, a minute, two are gained ; 

Along those burnished lines of steel, 
His glances leap, each nerve is strained, 

And still he prays with fervent zeal. 
Heart, hand and brain, with one accord, 

Work while his pray'r ascends to Heaven, 
" Just hold the train eight minutes, Lord. 

And I'll make up the other seven." 

With rush and roar through meadow lands, 
Past cottage homes, and green hillsides, 

The panting thing obeys his hands, 
And speeds along with giant strides. 



They say an accident delayed 
The train a little while ; but He 

Who listened while his children prayed, 

In answer, held the train at B . 

Rosk Hartwick Thorpe. 



NO RELIGION WITHOUT MYSTERIES. 

THKR3 is nothing beautiful, sweet, or 
grand in life, but in its mysteries. The 
sentiments which agitate us most 
strongly are enveloped in obscurity; mod- 
esty, virtuous love, sincere friendship, have 
all their secrets, with which the world must 
not be made acquainted. Hearts which 
love understand each other by a word ; half 
of each is at all times open to the other. 
Innocence itself is but a holy ignorance, and 
the most ineffable of mysteries. Infancy is 
only happy, because it as yet knows nothing; 
age miserable, because it has nothing more 
to learn. Happily for it, when the myster- 
ies of life are ending, those of immortality 
commence. 

If it is thus with the sentiments, it is as- 
suredly not less so with the virtues ; the 
most angelic are those which, emanating 
directly from the Deity, such as charity, 
love to withdraw themselves from all re- 
gards, as if fearful to betray their celestial 
origin. 

If we turn to the understanding, we shall 
find that the pleasures of thought, also, 
have a certain connection with the myster- 
ious. To what sciences do we unceasingly 
return ? To those which always leave some- 
thing still to be discovered, and fix our re- 
gards on a perspective which is never to 
terminate. If we wander in the desert, a sort 
of instinct leads us to shun the plains where 
the eye embraces at once the whole circum- 
ference of nature, to plunge into forests — 
those forests — the cradle of religion, whose 
shades and solitudes are filled with the re- 
collection of prodigies, where the ravens 
and the doves nourished the prophets and 
fathers of the church. If we visit a modern 
monument, whose origin or destination is 
known, it excites no attention ; but, if we 
meet on a desert isle, in the midst of the 
ocean, with a mutilated statue pointing to 
the west, with its pedestal covered with 
hieroglyphics, and worn by the winds, what 



254 



RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC 



a subject of meditation is presented to the 
traveler ! Everything is concealed, every- 
thing is hidden in the universe. Man him- 
self is the greatest mystery of the whole. 
Whence comes the spark which we call 
existence, and in what obscurity is it to be 
extinguished ? The Eternal has placed our 
birth, and our death, under the form of two 
veiled phantoms, at the two extremities of 
our career ; the one produces the inconceiv- 
able gift of life, which the other is ever 
ready to devour. 

It is not surprising, then, considering the 
passion of the human mind for the myster- 
ious, that the religions of every country 
should have had their impenetrable secrets. 
God forbid ! that I should compare the 
mysteries of the true faith, or the unfathom- 
able depths of the Sovereign in the heavens, 
to the changing obscurities of those gods 
which are the work of human hands. All 
that I observe is, that there is no religion 
without mysteries, and that it is they, with 
the sacrifice, which everywhere constitute 
the essence of the worship. 

Chateaubriand . 



RIZPAH. 



By permission of the author. 

One of the most pathetic and dramatic incidents in sacred 
history is that of Rizpah watching by the gibbets of her sons 
who had been slain to satisfy the haters of King Saul, their 
father. The story may be read in II Samuel, xxi. 

Night came at last. The noisy throng 
had gone, 

And where the sun so late, like al- 
chemist, 
Turned spear and shield and chariot to gold 
No sound was heard. 

The awful deed was done ; 
And vengeance sated to the full had turned 
Away. The Amorites had drunk the blood 
Of Saul and were content. The last armed 

guard 
Had gone, and stillness dwelt upon the 

scene. 
The rocky mount slept fast in solitude ; 
The dry, dead shrubs stood weird and grim, 

and marked 
The narrow, heated road that sloped and 

wound 
To join the King's highway. No living 

thing 



Was seen ; nor insect, bird, nor beast was 

heard ; 
The very air came noiselessly across 
The blighted barley fields below, yet stirred 
No leaflet with its sultry breath. 

Above 
A mist half hid the vaulted firmament, 
And stars shone dimly as though through 

a veil ; 
Still was their light full adequate to show 
Those rigid shapes that seeming stood 

erect, 
Yet bleeding hung, each from its upright 

cross, 
A mute companion to its ghastly kin. 
The middle watch was come, yet silence 

still 
Oppressed the night ; the twigs stood mo- 
tionless 
Like listening phantoms, when, from out 
The shadow of a jutting rock there came 
A moving thing of life, a wolf- like form : 
With slow and stealthy tread it came, then 

stopped 
To sniff the air, then nearer moved to 

where 
The seven gibbets stood. 

Then came a shriek, 
A cry of mortal fear that pierced the soul 
Of night ; then up from earth a figure 

sprang, 
The frightened jackal leaped away, and 

once 
More Rizpah crouched beneath her dead. 

So night 
And day she watched ; beneath the burning 

sun 
By day, beneath the stars and moon by 

night ; 
All through the long Passover Feast she 

watched. 
Oft in the lonely vigil back through years 
She went ; in fancy she was young again, 
The favored one of mighty Saul, the King ; 
Again she mingled with the courtly throng, 
And led her laughing boys before her lord, 
Their father. 

Starting then, with upturned face, 
And gazing from her hollow, tearless eyes, 
Her blackened lips would move, but make 

no sound, 
Then, sinking to the ground she caught 

once more 



RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC 



255 



The thread of thought, and thought brought 

other scenes ; 
She saw the stripling warrior David, son 
Of Jesse, whom the populace adored 
And Saul despised ; then Merab came, and 

then 
Her sweet-faced sister, Michal, whose quick 

wit 
And love saved David's life. 

Then Rizpah rose, 
Yea, like a tigress sprang unto her feet. 
" Thou, David, curst be thee and thine !" 

she shrieked, 
' ' Thou ingrate murderer ! Had Saul but 

lived, 
And hadst thou fallen upon thy sword in- 
stead, 
My sons, my children still would live." 

' Twas in 
The morning watch, and Rizpah 's last, that 

bright, 
Clear glowed the Milky Way. The Pleiades 
Like molten gold shone forth ; e'en she who 

loved 
The mortal Sisyphus peeped timidly, 
And so the Seven wond'ring sisters gazed 
Upon the Seven crucified below. 
Such cause for woman's pity ne'er was 

seen, 
And stars, e'en stones might weep for Riz- 

pah's woe, 
Whose mother-love was deathless as her 

soul. 
The gray dawn came. The sky was over- 
cast ; 
The wind had changed and sobbed a re- 
quiem. 
Still Rizpah slept and dreamed. She heard 

the sound 
Of harps and timbrels in her girlhood 

home — 
When rush of wings awakened her. She 

rose, 
Her chilled form shaking unto death. She 

looked, 
And saw the loathsome vultures at their 

work. 
With javelin staff in hand she beat them 

off, 
But bolder were they as she weaker grew, 
Till one huge bird swooped at her fierce, 
And sunk its talons in her wasted arm. 
She threw it off, the hideous monster fled, 



And Rizpah fell. It then began to rain. 
The famine ceased, and Rizpah's watch was 
done. 

Geo. M. Vickers. 



SHALL WE KNOW EACH OTHER THERE? 

The following beautiful and comforting lines were recited at a 
funeral in Philadelphia, in 1899, just after the minister's remarks, 
by a sympathetic friend of the family. It was a marked innova- 
tion upon the customs of such occasions, but those who heard it 
declared it impressed both mourners and friends profoundly. 

When we hear the music ringing 
In the bright celestial dome — 
When sweet angels' voices singing, 
Gladly bid us welcome home 
To the land of ancient story, 

Where the spirit knows no care 
In that land of life and glory — 
Shall we know each other there ? 

When the holy angels meet us, 

As we go to join their band, 
Shall we know the friends that greet us 

In that glorious spirit land ? 
Shall we see the same eyes shining 

On us as in days of yore ? 
Shall we feel the dear arms twining 

Fondly round us as before ? 

Yes, my earth- worn soul rejoices, 

And my weary heart grows light, 
For the thrilling angels' voices 

And the angel faces bright, 
That shall welcome us in heaven, 

Are the loved ones long ago ; 
And to them 'tis kindly given 

Thus their mortal friends to know. 

Oh ye weary, sad, and tossed one, 

Droop not, faint not by the way ! 
Ye shall join the loved and just ones 

In that land of perfect day. 
Harp -strings, touched by angel fingers, 

Murmur in my rapturous ear; — 
Evermore their sweet song lingers — 

" We shall know each other there." 



HOW THE ORGAN WAS PAID FOR. 

Many churches have experienced difficulty in paying for an 
organ, and it is common to give entertainments for the raising of 
fundi for this purpose. The following recitation may be helpful 
on such occasions. 



L 



oud the organ tones came swelling all 
the crowded aisles along ; 
Gladdest praise their music thrilling 
in a burst of worldless song. 



256 



RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC 



Oft the chink of falling money sounded soft 

the notes between, 
But the plate seemed slow in filling — little 

silver could be seen. 

Hands in pockets lingered sadly, faces 
looked unwilling, cold ; 

Gifts from slow, unwilling fingers o'er the 
plate's rich velvet rolled. 

"It's Thanksgiving, dear," a mother whis- 
pered to her questioning son ; 

" We must give to the new organ, all our 
pennies, every one. 

" Then it will be ours, all paid for, and will 

sweeter music send 
In thanksgiving up to Heaven, with the 

angels' praise to blend." 
Slowly passed the plate of off 'rings, while 

a child-voice whispered low : 
11 1 put in my every penny ; mamma, will 

the organ know 

"That I gave the yellow penny Uncle 

Charlie sent to me ?" 
"Yes, dear," whispered soft the mother, 
" God your gift will surely see," 
"Give, oh, give!" the music pleaded. 

" Give, that loud I may rejoice !" 
Then thro' all the waiting stillness, piped a 

shrill indignant voice : 

" Mamma, do yon think the organ saw that 

rich old Deacon Cox 
Only gave one little penny when they passed 

the music-box ?' ' 
Quick the little voice was quiet, but a flush 

of honest shame 
From awakened hearts uprising, over many 

faces came. 

And the Deacon, slowly rising, as the organ 

died away, 
Said, " I humbly here acknowledge to a 

wicked heart to-day, 
Friends and brothers ; but my sinning I will 

alter as I live, 
And the half of what is lacking here to-day, 

I freely give ; 

4 ' That our glorious new organ may give 

praise to God on high, 
With no debt of earth upon it that our gold 

can satisfy." 



Then arose another brother, and another 

still, and more, 
Giving with a lavish spending as they never 

gave before. 

Till the plate was overflowing and the 
organ debt secure ; 

Then they took a contribution for Thanks- 
giving and the poor. 

And as outward with the music a glad 
stream of people flows, 

Soft a childish voice cries, " Mamma, I am 
sure the organ knows ! ' 

Kate A. Bradley. 



AN APOSTROPHE TO THE MOUNTAINS. 

Mountains ! who was your builder ! 
Who laid your awful foundations 
in the central fires, and piled your 
rocks and snow-capped summits among the 
clouds ? Who placed you in the gardens of 
the world, like noble altars, on which to 
offer the sacrificial gifts of many nations ? 

Who reared your rocky walls in the bar- 
ren desert, like towering pyramids, like 
monumental mounds, like giants' graves, 
like dismantled piles of royal ruins, telling 
a mournful tale of glory, once bright, but 
now fled forever, as flee the dreams of a 
midsummer's night? Who gave you a 
home in the islands of the sea, — those 
emeralds that gleam among the waves — 
those stars of ocean that mock the beauty 
of the stars of night ? 

Mountains! I know who built you. It 
was God ! His name is written on your 
foreheads. He laid your cornerstones on 
that glorious morning when the orchestra 
of Heaven sounded the anthem of creation. 
He clothed your high, imperial forms in 
royal robes. 

He gave you a snowy garment, and wove 
for you a cloudy veil of crimson and gold. 
He crowned you with a diadem of icy jew- 
els ; pearls from the Arctic seas ; gems 
from the frosty pole. Mountains ! ye are 
glorious. Ye stretch your granite arms 
away toward the vales of the undiscovered; 
ye have a longing for immortality. 

But, mountains ! ye long in vain . I called 
you glorious, and truly ye are; but your 
glory is like that of the starry heavens, — 



RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC 



257 



it shall pass away at the trumpet-blast 01 
the angel of the Most High. Old Father 
Time — that sexton of earth — has dug for 
you a deep dark tomb ; and in silence ye 
shall sleep after sea and shore shall have 
been pressed by the feet of the apocalyptic 
angel, through the long watches of an eter- 
nal night. 

ONE TOUCH OF NATURE. 

The Love of Mother the same in any Language. 

WE were at a railroad junction one night 
last week waiting a few hours for a 
train, in the waiting-room, in the 
only rocking-chair, trying to talk a brown- 
eyed boy to sleep, who talks a good deal, 
when he wants to keep awake. Presently 
a freight train arrived, and a beautiful little 
woman came in, escorted by a great big 
German, and they talked in German, he 
giving her evidently, lots of information 
about the route she was going, and telling 
her about her tickets and her baggage 
check, and occasionally patting her on the 
arm. 

At first our United States baby, who did 
not understand German, was tickled to hear 
them talk, and he "snickered" at the 
peculiar sound of the language that was 
being spoken. The great big man put his 
hand upon the old lady's cheek, and said 
something encouraging, and a great big 
tear came to her eye, and she looked as 
happy as a queen. The little brown eyes 
of the boy opened pretty big, and his face 
sobered down from its laugh, and he said : 
" Papa, is it his mother ? " 

We knew it was, but how should a four- 
year-old sleepy baby, that couldn't under- 
stand German, tell that the lady was the 
big man's mother, and we asked him how 
he knew, and he said: " O, the big man 
was so kind to her." The big man bustled 
out, we gave the rocking-chair to the little 
old mother, and presently the man came in 
with the baggageman, and to him he spoke 
English . 

He said : " This is my mother, and she 
does not speak English. She is going to 
Iowa, and I have got to go back on the 
next train, but I want you to attend to her 
baggage, and see her on the right car, the 



rear car, with a good seat near the center, 
and tell the conductor she is my mother, 
and here's a dollar for you, and I will do as 
much for your mother sometime." 

The baggageman grasped the dollar with 
one hand, grasped the big man's hand with 
the other, and looked at the little German 
with an expression that showed that he had 
a mother too, and we almost knew the old 
lady was well treated. Then we put the 
sleeping mind-reader on a bench and went 
out on the platform and got acquainted 
with the big German, and he talked of 
horse trading, buying and selling, and 
everything that snowed he was a live 
business man, ready for any speculation, 
from buying a yearling colt to a crop of 
hops or barley, and that his life was a very 
busy one and at times full of hard work, 
disappointment and hard roads, but with 
all his hurry and excitement, he was kind 
to his mother, and we loved him just a 
little, and when after a few minutes talk 
about business he said : ' ' You must excuse 
me. I must go in the depot and see if my 
mother wants anything, ' ' we felt like taking 
his fat red hand and kissing it. O, the love 
of a mother is the same in any language, 
and it is good in all languages. The world 
would be poor without it. 

R. J. BURDETTK. 



NO SECTS IN HEAVEN. 

For Church Entertainment. 

Talking of sects till late one eve, 
Of the various doctrines the saints 
believe, 
That night I stood, in a troubled dream, 
By the side of a darkly flowing stream. 

And a ' ' Churchman ' ' down to the river 

came ; 
When I heard a strange voice call his name : 
"Good father, stop; when you cross this 

tide, 
You must leave your robes on the other 

side." 

But the aged father did not mind, 
And his long gown floated out behind, 
As down to the stream his way he took, 
His pale hands clasping a gilt-edged book. 



258 



RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC 



"I'm bound for heaven; and when I'm 

there, 
Shall want my Book of Common Prayer ; 
And, though I put on a starry crown, 
I should feel quite lost without my gown." 

Then he fixed his eyes on the shining track, 
But his gown was heavy and held him back ; 
A.nd the poor old father tried in vain 
A single step in the flood to gain. 

I saw him again on the other side, 
But his silk gown floated on the tide ; 
And no one asked, in that blissful spot, 
Whether he belonged to the ' ' church ' ' or 
not. 

Then down to the river a Quaker strayed ; 
His dress of a sober hue was made : 
' ' My coat and hat must all be gray — 
I cannot go any other way." 

Then he buttoned his coat straight up to his 

chin, 
And staidly, solemnly waded in, 
And his broad-brimmed hat he pulled down 

tight, 
Over his forehead so cold and white. 

But a strong wind carried away his hat, 
A moment he silently sighed over that ; 
And then, as he gazed to the farther shore, 
The coat slipped off, and was seen no more* 

As he entered heaven his suit of gray 
Went quietly sailing, away, away ; 
And none of the angels questioned him 
About the width of his beaver's brim. 

Next came Dr. Watts, with a bundle of 

psalms 
Tied nicely up in his aged arms, 
And hymns as many, a very wise thing, 
That the people in heaven "all 'round" 

might sing. 

But I thought that he heaved an anxious 

sigh, 
As he saw that the river ran broad and 

high; 
And looked rather surprised as one by one 
The psalms and hymns in the wave went 

down. 



And after him, with his MSS., 
Came Wesley, the pattern of godliness; 
But he cried, "Dear me ! what shall I do ? 
The water has soaked them through and 
through." 

And there on the river far and wide, 
Away they went down the swollen tide ; 
And the saint, astonished, passed through 

alone 
Without his manuscripts, up to the throne. 

Then, gravely walking, two saints by name 
Down to the stream together came ; 
But as they stopped at the river's brink, 
I saw one saint from the other shrink. 

"Sprinkled or plunged? may I ask you, 

friend, 
How you attained to life's great end ? " 
" Thus, with a few drops on my brow," 
" But / have been dipped as you see me 

now." 

" And I really think it will hardly do, 

As I'm 'close communion,' to cross with 

you. 
You're bound, I know, to the realms of 

bliss, 
But you must go that way, and I'll go 

this." 

Then straightway plunging with all his 

might, 
Away to the left — his friend to the right, 
Apart they went from this world of sin, 
But at last together they entered in. 

And now, when the river was rolling on, 

A Presbyterian church went down ; 

Of women there seemed an innumerable 

throng, 
But the men I could count as they passed 

along. 

And concerning the road they never could 

agree 
The old or the new way, which it could be, 
Nor never a moment stopped to think 
That both would lead to the river's brink. 

And a sound of murmuring, long and loud, 
Came ever up from the moving crowd ; 
"You're in the old way, and I'm in the 
new : 




■ ■■ ■'■■{ 



THE SACRIFICE OF IPHIGENIA 

In the above engraving Sarah Bernhardt impersonates Iphigenia 
(Suggestion for Tableau) 



(23 




(260) 



NEVER TO MEET AGAIN 

(Suggestion for Tableau) 



RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC 



261 



That is the false, and this is the true "— 
Or " I'm in the old way, and you're in the 

new ; 
That is the false, and this is the true." 

But the brethren only seemed to speak : 
Modest the sisters walked and meek, 
And if ever one of them chanced to say 
Whac trouble she met on the way, 
How she longed to pass to the other side, 
Nor feared to cross over the swelling tide, 

A voice arose from the brethren then, 
' ' L,et no one speak but the holy men ; 
For have ye not heard the words of Paul, 
1 Oh, let the women keep silence all ? ' " 

I watched them long in my curious dream, 
Till they stood by the borders of the 

stream ; 
Then, just as I thought, the two ways 

met ; 
But all the brethren were talking yet, 
And would talk on till the heaving tide 
Carried them over side by side — 
Side by side, for the way was one ; 
The toilsome journey of life was done ; 
And all who in Christ the Saviour died, 
Came out alike on the other side. 

No forms, or crosses, or books had they, 

No gowns of silk or suits of gray ; 

No creeds to guide them, or MSS.; 

For all had put on Christ's righteousness. . 

K. H.J. ClvEVKLAND. 



PAPA'S LETTER. 



I 



WAS sitting in my study, 

Writing letters, when I heard, 
" Please, dear mamma, Mary told me 
Mamma mustn't be 'isturbed ; 



" But I's tired of the kitty, 
Want some ozzer fing to do ! 

Witing letters, is 'ou, mamma ? 
Tan't I wite a letter, too ?" 

" Not now, darling, mamma's busy ; 

Run and play with kitty, now." 
" No, no, mamma, me wite letter — 

Tan if 'ou will show me how.' ' 

I would paint my darling's portrait 
As his sweet eyes searched my face — 



Hair of gold and eyes of azure, 
Form of childish, witching grace. 

But the eager face was clouded, 

As I slowly shook my head, 
Till I said, "I'll make a letter 

Of you, darling boy, instead." 

So I parted back the tresses 

From his forehead high and white, 

And a stamp in sport I pasted 
'Mid its waves of golden light. 

Then I said, " Now, little letter, 
Go away, and bear good news. " 

And I smiled as down the staircase 
Clattered loud the little shoes. 

Leaving me, the darling hurried 

Down to Mary in his glee : 
" Mamma's witing lots of letters ; 

I's a letter, Mary — see ?" 

No one heard the little prattler 

As once more he climbed the stair, 

Reached his little cap and tippet, 
Standing on the entry chair. 

No one heard the front door open, 

No one saw the golden hair 
As it floated o'er his shoulders 

In the crisp October air. 

Down the street the baby hastened 
Till he reached the office door. 

"I'sa letter, Mr. Postman, 
Is there room for any more ? 

" 'Cause dis letter's doin' to papa : 
Papa lives with God, 'ou know. 

Mamma sent me for a letter ; 
Does 'ou fink 'at I tan go ?" 

But the clerk in wonder answered, 

" Not to-day, my little man." 
" Den I'll find anuzzer office, 

'Cause I must go if I tan." 

Fain the clerk would have detained him, 
But the pleading face was gone, 

And the little feet were hastening — 
By the busy crowd swept on. 

Suddenly the crowd was parted, 
People fled to left and right 



262 



RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC 



As a pair of maddened horses 
At the moment dashed in sight. 

No one saw the baby figure — 
No one saw the golden hair, 

Till a voice of frightened sweetness 
Rang out on the autumn air. 

'Twas too late — a moment only 
Stood the beauteous vision there, 

Then the little face lay lifeless, 
Govered o'er with golden hair 

Reverently they raised my darling, 
Brushed away the curls of gold, 

Saw the stamp upon the forehead, 
growing now so icy cold. 

Not a mark the face disfigured, 
Showing where a hoof had trod ; 

But the little life was ended — 
" Papa's letter " was with God. 



THE CYNIC. 



The; cynic is one who never sees a good 
quality in a man, and never fails to 
see a bad one. He is the human 
owl, vigilant in darkness and blind to light, 
mousing for vermin, and never seeing noble 
game. 

The cynic puts all human actions into 
only two classes — openly bad, and secretly 
bad. All virtue, and generosity, and disin- 
terestedness, are merely the appearance of 
good, but selfish at the bottom. He holds 
that no man does a good thing except for 
profit. The effect of his conversation upon 
your feelings is to chill and sear them ; to 
send you away sour and morose. 

His criticisms and innuendoes fall indis- 
criminately upon every lovely thing, like 
frost upon the flowers. If Mr. A. is pro- 
nounced a religious man, he will reply : 
yes, on Sundays. Mr. B. has just joined 
the church : certainly ; the elections are 
coming on. The minister of the gospel is 
called an example of diligence : it is his 
trade. Such a man is generous : of other 
men's money. This man is obliging: to 
lull suspicion and cheat you. That man is 
upright : because he is green. 

Thus his eye strains out every good qual- 
ity, and takes in only the bad. To him 



religion is hypocrisy, honesty a preparation 
or fraud, virtue only a want of opportunity, 
and undeniable purity, asceticism. The live- 
long day he will coolly sit with sneering 
lip, transfixing every character that is pre- 
sented. 

It is impossible to indulge in such habit- 
ual severity of opinion upon our fellow-men, 
without injuring the tenderness and delicacy 
of our own feelings. A man will be what his 
most cherished feelings are. If he encourage 
a noble generosity, every feeling will be 
enriched by it ; if he nurse bitter and 
envenomed thoughts, his own spirit will 
absorb the poison, aud he will crawl among 
men as a burnished adder, whose life is 
mischief, and whose errand is death. 

He who hunts for flowers will find flow- 
ers ; and he who loves weeds may find 
weeds. 

L,et it be remembered that no man, who is 
not himself morally diseased, will have a 
relish for disease in others. Reject then 
the morbid ambition of the cynic, or cease 
to call yourself a man. 

H. W. Bkkchkr. 



ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

Short, practical reading, suitable for any occasion when 
didactics are admissible. 

Young men, you are the architects of 
your own fortunes. Rely upon your 
own strength of body and soul. Take 
for your star self-reliance, faith, honesty, 
and industry. Inscribe on your banner, 
" Luck is a fool, pluck is a hero." Don't 
take too much advice — keep at your helm 
and steer your own ship, and remember that 
the great art of commanding is to take a 
fair share of the work. Don't practice too 
much humanity. Think well of yourself, 
Strike out. Assume your own position. 
Put potatoes in your cart, over a rough 
road, and small ones go to the bottom. Rise 
above the envious and jealous. Fire above 
the mark you intend to hit. Knergy, in- 
vincible determination, with a right motive, 
are the levers that move the world. Don't 
drink. Don't chew. Don't smoke. Don't 
swear. Don't deceive. Don't read novels. 
Don't marry until you can support a wife. 
Be in earnest. Be self-reliant. Be generous. 



RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC 



263 



Be civil. Read the papers. Advertise your 
business. Make money and do good with 
it. Love your God and fellowmen. Love 
truth and virtue. Love your country, and 
obey its laws. If this advice be implicitly 
followed by the young men of the country, 
the millennium is at hand. 

Noah Porter. 



THE LAST HYMN. 

THE Sabbath day was ended in a village 
by the sea, 
The uttered benediction touched the 
people tenderly 
And they rose to face the sunset in the 

glowing, lighted west, 
And then hastened to their dwellings for 
God's blessed boon of rest. 

And they looked across the waters, and a 

storm was raging there, 
A fierce spirit moved above them — a wild 

spirit of the air ; 
And it lashed, and shook and tore them, till 

they thundered, groaned and boomed, 
And alas ! for any vessel in their yawning 

gulfs entombed. 

Very anxious were the people on the rocky 

coast of Wales, 
Lest the dawn of coming morrows should 

be telling awful tales, 
When the sea had spent its passion and 

should cast upon the shore 
Bits of wreck and swollen victims, as it had 

done heretofore, 

With the rough winds blowing round her, 

a brave woman strained her eyes, 
And she saw along the billows a large 

vessel fall and rise. 
Oh, it did not need a prophet to tell what 

the end must be ! 
For no ship could ride in safety near the 

shore on such a sea. 

Then pitying people hurried from their 

homes and thronged the beach. 
Oh, for power to cross the water and the 

perishing to reach ! 
Helpless hands were wrung with sorrow, 

tender hearts grew cold with dread ; 
And the ship, urged by the tempest, to the 

fatal rock-shore sped. 



"• She has parted in the middle ! Oh, the 

half of her goes down ! 
God have mercy ! Is Heaven far to seek 

for those who drown ? ' ' 
Lo ! when next the white, shocked faces 

looked with terror on the sea, 
Only one last clinging figure on the spar 

was seen to be. 

Near the trembling watchers came the wreck 

tossed by the wave, 
And the man still clung and floated, though 

no power on earth could save. 
' ' Could we send him a short message ? 

here's a trumpet. Shout away ! " 
'Twas the preacher's hand that took it, and 

he wondered what to say. 

Any memory of his sermon — firstly — sec- 
ondly ! Ah, no ! 

There was but one thing to utter in that 
awful hour of woe ; 

So he shouted through the trumpet, ' ' Look 
to Jesus. Can you hear ? " 

And " Ay, ay, sir! " rang the answer o'er 
the water loud and clear. 

Then they listened. He is singing, "Jesus, 

lover of my soul ! ' ' 
And the winds brought back the echo, 

1 ' While the nearer waters roll ; ' ' 
Strange, indeed, it was to hear him, " Till 

the storm of life is passed , ' ' 
Singing bravely from the waters, "Oh, 

receive my soul at last ! ' ' 

He could have no other refuge. " Hangs 

my helpless soul on Thee ; 
Leave, ah, leave me not" — the singer 

dropped at last into the sea, 
And then the watchers, looking homeward, 

through their eyes with tears made dim, 
Said, " He passed to be with Jesus in the 

singing of that hymn . ' ' 

M. Farmington. 



THE BRAVEST OF BATTLES. 

THE bravest battle that ever was fought, 
Shall I tell you where and when ? 
On the maps of the world you'll find 
it not ; 
'Twas fought by the mothers of men. 



264 



RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC 



Nay, not with cannon or battle shot, 

With sword or nobler pen ; 
Nay, not with eloquent word or thought 

From mouth of wonderful men. 

But deep in a walled-up woman's heart — 
Of woman that would not yield, 

But bravely, silently bore her part — 
Lo ! there is the battle-field. 

No marshalling troup, no bivouac song, 
No banner to gleam and wave ! 

But oh, these battles, they last so long — 
From babyhood to the grave. 

Joaquin Miixer. 



INFLUENCE OF SHALL THINGS. 

Drop a pebble in th' water — jes a splash an' 

it is gone, 
But th's half a hundred ripples circlin' on 

an' on an' on, 
Spreadin', spreadin' from the centre, flowin' 

on out to the sea, 
An' th' ain't no way o' tellin' where th' 

end is goin' to be. 
Drop a pebble in th' water — in a minute ye 

forget, 
But th's little waves a' flowin' an' th's rip- 
ples circlin' yet, 
All th' ripples flowin', flowin' to a mighty 

wave has grown, 
An' ye've disturbed a mighty river — jes' by 

droppin' in a stone. 

Drop an unkind word or careless — in a min- 
ute it is gone, 

But th's half a hundred ripples circlin' on 
an' on an' on, 

Th' keep spreadin', spreadin', spreadin' 
from the centre as th' go, 

An' the' ain't no way to stop 'em, once 
ye've started 'em to flow. 

Drop an unkind word or careless — in a min- 
ute ye forget, 

But th's little waves a' flowin' and the's rip- 
ples circlin' yet, 

An' perhaps in some sad heart a mighty 
wave of tears ye've stirred, 

An' disturbed a life et's happy when ye 
dropped an unkind word. 

Drop a word o' cheer an' kindness — jes' a 
flash and it is gone, 



But th's half a hundred ripples circlin' on 

an' on an' on, 
Bearin' hope an' joy an' comfort on each 

splashin', dashin' wave, 
Till ye wouldn't b'lieve th' volume o' th' 

one kind word ye gave. 
Drop a word o' cheer and kindness — in a 

minute ye forget, 
But th's gladness still a' swellin' an' th's 

joy a' circlin' yet, 
An' ye've rolled a wave of comfort whose 

sweet music can be heard 
Over miles an' miles o' water — jes' by drop- 
pin' a kind word. 



DON'T BE IN A HURRY. 

Don't be in a hurry to answer yes or no ; 
Nothing's lost by being reasonably 
slow, 
In a hasty moment you may give consent, 
And through years of torment leisurely 
repent. 

If a lover seeks you to become his wife, 
Happiness or misery may be yours for life : 
Don't be in a hurry your feelings to confess, 
But think the matter over before you answer 
yes. 

Should one ask forgiveness for a grave 

offence, 
Honest tears betraying earnest penitence, 
Pity and console him and his fears allay, 
And don't be in a hurry to drive the child 

away. 

Hurry brings us worry ; worry wears us 

out, 
Easy going people know what they're 

about, 
Heedless haste will bring us surely to the 

ditch, 
And trouble overwhelm us if we hurry to be 

rich. 

Don't be in a hurry to throw yourself 

away ; 
By the side of wisdom for a wild delay, 
Make your life worth living ; nobly act 

your part ; 
And don't be in a hurry to spoil it at the 

start. 



RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC 



265 



Don't be in a hurry to speak an angry word ; 
Don't be in a hurry to spread the tale 

you've heard. 
Don't be in a hurry with evil ones to go ; 
And don't be in a hurry to answer yes or no. 



APOSTROPHE TO NIAGARA. 

Monarch of floods ! How shall I ap- 
proach thee ? — how speak of thy 
glory ? — how extol thy beauty and 
grandeur ? Ages have seen thy awful 
majesty ; earth has paid tribute to thy great- 
ness ; the best and wisest among men have 
bent the knee at thy footstool ! but none 
have described — none can describe thee ! 
Alone thou standest among the wonders of 
Nature, unshaken by the shock of contend- 
ing elements, flinging back the flash of the 
lightning, and outroaring the thunder 
of the tempest ! Allied to the everlasting 
hills, — claiming kindred with the eternal 
flood, thou art pillared upon the one, the 
other supplies thy surge. Primeval rocks 
environ, clouds cover, and the rainbow 
crowns thee. A divine sublimity rests on 
thy fearful brow, an awful beauty is revealed 
in thy terrific countenance, the earth is 
shaken by thy tremendous voice. 

Born in the dark past and alive to the dis- 
tant future, what to thee are the paltry con- 
cerns of man's ambitions ? — the rise and fall 
of empires and dynasties, the contests of 
kings or the crash of thrones ? Thou art 
unmoved by the fate of nations, and the 
revolutions of the earth are to thee but the 
pulses of time. Kings before thee are but 
men, and man, a type of insignificance. 

' ' Thou dost make the soul 
A wondering witness of thy majesty ; 
And while it rushes with delirious joy 
To tread thy vestibule, dost chain its steps 
And check its rapture, with the humbling 

view 
Of its own nothingness. 



GOOD OLD MOTHERS. 

Suitable for a Family Reunion Where an Aged 
Mother is Present. 

Somkbody has said that " a mother's love 
is the only virtue that did not suffer by 
the fall of Adam." Whether Adam 
j6 



fell or not, it is quite clear that the unselfish 
love of a good mother is the crowning glory 
of the race. No matter how long and how 
sorely it may be tried, its arms are ever open 
to receive the returning prodigal. One 
faithful heart never loses its affection for the 
wanderer who has strayed from the fold. 
Adversity and sorrow may come with all 
their terrible force, but the motherly affec- 
tion clings to its idol closely. We never 
see a good old mother sitting in the arm- 
chair that we do not think of the storms 
which have pelted into her cheerful face 
without souring it. Her smile is a solace, 
her presence a benediction. A man may 
stand more exertion of some kinds than a 
woman, but he is apt to lose much of his 
laughter, his cheerfulness, his gentleness, 
and his trust. Yet we rarely find a frail 
mother whose spirit has been worn thread- 
bare and unlovely by trials that would have 
turned a dozen men into misanthropes and 
demons. A sweet old mother is common . 
A sweet old father is not so common. In 
exhaustless patience, hope, faith, and be- 
nevolence the mothers are sure to lead. 
Alas, that their worth too often is not fully 
known and properly appreciated until they 
pass beyond mortal reach ! God bless the 
good old mothers ! 



THE FUNERAL. 

I was walking in Savannah, past a church 
decayed and dim, 
When there slowly through the window 
came a plaintive funeral hymn ; 
And a sympathy awakened, and a wonder 

quickly grew, 
Till I found myself environed in a little 
negro pew. 

Out at front a colored couple sat in sorrow, 

nearly wild ; 
On the altar was a coffin, in the coffin was 

a child. 
I could picture him when living — curly 

hair, protruding lip — 
And had seen, perhaps, a thousand, in my 

hurried Southern trip ; 

But no baby ever rested in the soothing 

arms of Death 
That had fanned more flames of sorrow 

with his little fluttering breath ; 



266 



RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC 



And no funeral ever glistened with more 

sympathy profound 
Than was in the chain of tear-drops that 

enclasped those mourners round. 

Rose a sad old colored preacher at the little 

wooden desk — 
With a manner grandly awkward, with a 

countenance grotesque ; 
With simplicity and shrewdness on his 

Ethiopian face ; 
With the ignorance and wisdom of a crushed 

undying race. 

And he said: "Now don' be weepin' for 

dis pretty bit o' clay — 
For de little boy who lived dere, he done 

gone an' run away ! 
He was doin' very finely, an' he 'preciate 

your love ; 
But his sure 'nuff Father want him in de 

large house up above. 

"Now he didn't give you dat baby, by a 

hundred thousan' mile ! 
He just think you need some sunshine, an' 

he lent it for awhile ! 
An' he let you keep an' love it till your 

hearts was bigger grown, 
An' dese silver tears you'r sheddin's jes de 

interest on de loan. 

" Here's yer oder pretty chilrun ! — don' be 

makin' it appear 
Dat your love got sort o' 'nop'lized by dis 

little fellow here ; 
Don' pile up too much your sorrow on deir 

little mental shelves, 
So's to kind o' set 'em wonderin' if dey're 

no account demselves. 

"Just you think, you poor deah mounahs, 
creepin' long o'er Sorrow's way, 

What a blessed little picnic dis yere baby's 
got to-day ! 

Your good faders and good moders crowd 
de little fellow round 

In de angel-tented garden of de Big Plan- 
tation Ground. 

" An' dey ask him, ' Was your feet sore ? ' 

an' take off his little shoes, 
An' dey wash him, an' dey kiss him, an' 

dey say, ' Now, what's de news ? ' 



An' de L,awd done cut his tongue loose ; 

den de little fellow say, 
' All our folks down in de valley tries to 

keep de hebbenly way.' 

"An' his eyes dey brightly sparkle at de 

pretty tings he view ; 
Den a tear come, an' he whisper, ' But I 

want my pa'yents, too ! ' 
But de Angel Chief Musician teach dat boy 

a little song ; 
Says, ' If only dey be fait'ful dey will soon 

be comin long.' 

" An' he'll get an education dat will prob- 

erbly be worth 
Seberal times as much as any you could 

buy for him on earth ; 
He'll be in de L,awd's big school house, 

widout no contempt or fear, 
While dere's no end to de bad tings might 

have happened to him here. 

"So, my pooah dejected mounahs, let your 

hearts wid Jesus rest, 
An' don' go ter criticism' dat ar One w'at 

knows de best ! 
He have sent us many comforts — He have 

right to take away — 
To de Lawd be praise an' glory, now and 

ever ! — I^et us pray. ' ' 

WiLiv Cari/eton. 



WANTED— A MINISTER'S WIFE. 
Suitable to Church Entertainment. 

AT length we have settled a Pastor,— 
I am sure I cannot tell why 
The people should grow so restless, 
Or candidates grow so shy. 
But after two yeares' searching 

For the " smartest " man in the land, 
In a fit of desperation 

We took the nearest at hand. 

And really he answers nicely 

To " fill up the gap," you know ; 
To ' ' run the machine ' ' and ' ' bring up 
arrears," 

And make things generally go. 
He has a few little failings ; 

His sermons are commonplace quite ; 
But his manner is very charming, 

And his teeth are perfectly white. 



RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC 



267 



And so of all the " dear people," 

Not one in a hundred complains, 
For beauty and grace of manner 

Are so much better than brains ; 
But the parish have all concluded 

He needs a partner for life, 
To shine a gem in the parlor : 

" Wanted — a Minister's Wife !" 



A perfect pattern of prudence 

To all others, spending less, 
But never disgracing the parish 

By looking shabby in dress. 
Playing the organ on Sunday 

Would aid our laudable strife 
To save the society's money : 

" Wanted — a Minister's Wife ! 



' ' Wanted — a perfect lady, 

Delicate, gentle, refined, 
With every beauty of person, 

And every endowment of mind. 
Fitted by early culture 

To move in a fashionable life — 
Please notice our advertisement : 

" Wanted — a Minister's Wife !' 



And when we have found the person, 
We hope, by working the two, 

To lift our debt, and build a new church- 
Then we shall know what to do ; 

For they will be worn and weary, 
Needing a change of life, 

And we'll advertise — " Wanted — 
A Minister and his Wife ! ' ' 



Wanted — a thorough- bred worker, 

Who well to her household looks, 
(Shall we see our money wasted, 

By extravagant Irish cooks ?) 
Who cut the daily expenses 

With economy sharp as a knife, 
And washes and scrubs in the kitchen : 

"Wanted — a Minister's Wife !" 

A ' ' very domestic person, ' ' 

To " callers " she must not be " out :" 
It has such a bad appearance 

For her to be gadding about, — 
Only to visit the parish 

Every year of her life, 
And attend the funerals and weddings : 

" Wanted — a Minister's wife !" 

To conduct the " ladies' meetings," 

The " sewing circle " attend, 
And when we have ' ' work for the soldiers, 

Her ready assistance to lend ; 
To clothe the destitute children, 

Where sorrow and want are rife, 
To hunt up Sunday School scholars : 

" Wanted — a Minister's Wife !" 

Careful to entertain strangers, 

Traveling agents and ' ' such ; ' ' 
Of this kind of ' ' angel visits ' ' 

The deacons had so much, 
As to prove a perfect nuisance, 

And ' ' hopes these plagues of their life 
Can soon be sent to their parsons : 

" Wanted — a Minister's Wife !" 



M 



FORGIVENESS. 

y heart was galled with bitter wrong, 
Revengeful feelings fired my blood, 
I brooded hate with passion strong 
While round my couch black demons 
stood. 
Kind Morpheus wooed my eyes in vain, 
My burning brain conceived a plan ; 
Revenge ! I cried, in bitter strain, 

But conscience whispered, "bea man." 

Forgive ! a gentle spirit cried, 

I yielded to my nobler part, 
Uprose and to my foe I hied, 

Forgave him freely from my heart. 
The big tears from their fountain rose, 

He melted, vowed my friend to be, 
That night I sank in sweet repose 

And dreamed that angels smiled on me ! 

Anonymous. 



ADVICE TO A YOUNG MAN. 

RKMKMBKR, my son, you have to work. 
Whether you handle a pick or a pen, 
a wheelbarrow or a set of books, 
digging ditches or editing a paper, ringing 
an auction bell or writing funny things, 
you must work. If you look around, you 
will see the men who are the most able to 
live the rest of their days without work are 
the men who work the hardest. Don't be 
afraid of killing yourself with overwork. 
It is beyond your power to do that on the 



26S 



RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC 



sunny side of thirty. They die sometimes, 
but it is because they quit work at 6 p.m., 
and don't get home until 2 a.m. It's 
the interval that kills, my son. The work 
gives you an appetite for your meals ; it 
lends solidity to your slumbers ; it gives 
you a perfect and grateful appreciation of 
a holiday. 

There are young men who do not work, 
but the world is not proud of them. It 
does not know their names even ; it simply 
speaks of them as " old So-and-so's boys." 
Nobody likes them ; the great busy world 
doesn't know that they are there. So find 
out what you want to be and do, and take 
off your coat and make a dust in the world . 
The busier you are, the less harm you will 
be apt to get into, the sweeter will be your 
sleep, the brighter and happier your holi- 
days, and the better satisfied will the world 
be with you. R. J. Burdette. 



TACT AND TALENT. 

Practical Didactic Selection. Should be Read in 
a Deliberate and Reflective Manner. 

Talent is something, but tact is every- 
thing. Talent is serious, sober, grave 
and respectable ; tact is all that, and 
more too. It is not a sixth sense, but it is 
the life of all the five. It is the open eye, 
the quick ear, the judging taste, the keen 
smell, and the lively touch ; it is the inter- 
preter of all riddles, the surmounter of all 
difficulties, the remover of all obstacles. It 
is useful in all places, and at all times ; it is 
useful in solitude, for it shows a man his 
way into the world ; it is useful in society, 
for it shows him his way through the world. 
Talent is power, tact is skill ; talent is 
weight, tact is momentum ; talent knows 
what to do, tact knows how to do it ; talent 
makes a man respectable, tact will make 
him respected ; talent is wealth, tact is 
ready money. 

For all the practical purposes of life, tact 
carries it against talent, ten to one. Take 
them to the theatre, and put them against 
each other on the stage, and talent shall 
produce you a tragedy that will scarcely 
live long enough to be condemned, while 
tact keeps the house in a roar, night after 
night, with its successful farces. There is 



no want of dramatic talent, there is no want 
of dramatic tact ; but they are seldom 
together ; so we have successful pieces 
which are not respectable, and respectable 
pieces which are not successful. 

Take them to the bar, and let them shake 
their learned curls at e ach other in legal 
rivalry. Talent sees its way clearly, but tact 
is first at its journey's end. Talent has 
many a compliment from the bench, but tact 
touches fees from attorneys and clients. 
Talent speaks learnedly and logically, tact 
triumphantly. Talent makes the world 
wonder that it gets on no faster, tact 
excites astonishment that it gets on so fast. 
And the secret is, that tact has no weight 
to carry ; it makes no false steps ; it hits 
the right nail on the head ; it loses no time ; 
it takes all hints ; and, by keeping its eye 
on the weathercock, is ready to take advan- 
tage of every wind that blows. 

Take them into the chnrch. Talent has 
always something worth hearing, tact is 
sure of abundance of hearers ; talent 
may obtain a living, tact will make one ; 
talent gets a good name, tact a great one ; 
talent convinces, tact converts ; talent is an 
honor to the profession, tact gains honor 
from the profession. 

Take them to court. Talent feels its 
weight, tact finds its way ; talent commands, 
tact is obeyed ; talent is honored with appro- 
bation, and tact is blessed by preferment. 

Place them in the Senate. Talent has 
the ear of the house, but tact wins its heart 
and has its votes ; talent is fit for employ- 
ment, but tact is fitted for it. Tact has a 
knack of slipping into place with a sweet 
silence and glibness of movement, as a bil- 
liard-ball insinuates itself into the pocket. 
It seems to know everything, without learn- 
ing anything. It has served an invisible 
and extemporary apprenticeship ; it wants 
no drilling ; it never ranks in the awkward 
squad ; it has no left hand, no deaf ear, no 
blind side. It puts on no looks of wondrous 
wisdom, it has no air of profundity, but 
plays with the details of place as dexterously 
as a well-taught hand flourishes over the 
keys of the piano-forte. It has all the air 
of commonplace, and all the force and 
power of genius. 

London ' ' Atxas. ' ? 



RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC 



269 



AFTER TWENTY YEARS. 

THK coffin was a plain one — a poor miser- 
able pine coffin. One flower on the 
top ; no lining of white satin for the 
pale brow ; no smooth ribbons about the 
coarse shroud. The brown hair was laid 
decently back, but there was no primped 
cap with the tie beneath the chin. The 
sufferer of cruel poverty smiled in her 
sleep ; she had found bread, rest and health. 

"I want to see my mother," sobbed a 
poor little child, as the undertaker screwed 
down the top. 

" You cannot ; get out of my way, boy ; 
why does not someone take the brat ? ' ' 

"Only let me see one minute!" cried 
the orphan, clutching the side of the charity 
box, as he gazed upon the coffin, agonized 
tears streaming down the cheeks on which 
the childish bloom ever lingered. Oh ! it 
was painful to hear him cry the words : 
"Only once; let me see my mother, only 
once ! ' ' 

Quickly and brutally the heartless mon- 
ster struck the boy away, so that he reeled 
with the blow. For a moment the boy 
stood panting with grief and rage — his blue 
eyes distended, his lips sprang apart, fire 
glistened through his eyes as he raised his 
little arm with a most unchildish laugh, 
and screamed: "When I'm a man I'll be 
revenged for that ! " 

There was a coffin and a heap of earth 
between the mother and the poor forsaken 
child — a monument much stronger than 
granite, built in the boy's heart, the mem- 
ory of the heartless deed. 

The court house was crowded to suffoca- 
tion. 

"Does any one appear as this man's 
counsel ? " asked the judge. 

There was a silence when he had finished, 
until, with lips tightly pressed together, a 
look of strange intelligence, blended with 
haughty reserve on his handsome features, 
a young man stepped forward with a firm 
tread and a kindly eye to plead for the 
friendless one. He was a stranger, but at. 
the first sentence there was a silence. 
The splendor of his genius entranced — con- 
vinced . 

The man who could not find a friend was 
acquitted. 



" May God bless you, sir; I cannot! " 
he exclaimed. 

' ' I want no thanks, ' ' replied the stranger. 

' ' I — I — I — believe you are unknown to 
me." 

"Sir, I will refresh your memory. 
Twenty years ago, this day, you struck a 
broken-hearted little boy away from his 
mother's coffin. I was that boy." 

The man turned pale. 

' ' Have you rescued me then to take my 
life?" 

" No ; I have a sweeter revenge. I have 
saved the life of a man whose brutal con- 
duct has rankled in my breast for the last 
twenty years. Go, then, and remember the 
tears of a friendless child." 

The man bowed his head in shame, and 
went from the presence of magnaminity — 
as grand to him as it was incomprehensible. 



STICK TO YOUR BUSH. 

Whkn I was but a tiny boy, 
And went to a village school, 
I thought myself, as boys will think, 
That I was no man's fool. 
But in the village there was one 
Who was the fool of all ; 
Poor fellow, he was Crazy Ben, 
A man both lithe and tall. 

But Ben was gaunt and gray, a fool, 

The village Solons cried : 
He'd been so, thus they told the tale, 

E'er since his true love died. 
But Ben was kind, I not afraid, 

And Ben became my chum ; 
E'en though at times poor Ben took freaks, 

His idiot tongue was dumb. 

One day that tongue unloosed a truth 

That made me then to wince, 
And though it came from idiot lips, 

Has never left me since. 
That day we berrying had gone, 

And Ben had gone along, 
And, boy -like, 1 from bush to bush 

Had wandered with the throng. 

Ben stuck, in silence, to one spot, 

And whispered this to me : 
" Stick to your bush if you of fruit 



270 



RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC 



A basketful would see. ' ' 
And so I did, and proved the fact ; 

While through the world we push, 
There's nothing better to be learned 

Than this — "Stick to your bush." 

J. W. Watson. 



WE ARE NOT ALWAYS GLAD WHEN WE 
SMILE. 

WE are not always glad when we smile, 
For the heart in a tempest of pain 
May live in the guise of a laugh in the 
eyes, 
As the rainbow may live in the rain ; 
And the stormless night of our woe 

May hang out a radiant star, 
Whose light in the sky of distress is a lie 
As black as the thunder clouds are. 

We are not always glad when we smile, 
For the world is so fickle and gay, 

That our doubts and our fears, and our 
griefs and our tears, 
Are laughingly hidden away ; 

And the touch of a frivolous hand 
May oftener wound than caress, 

And the kisses that drip from the reveller's 

up 

May oftener blister than bless. 

We are not always glad when we smile, 

But the conscience is quick to record 
That the sorrow and the sin we are holding 
within 

Is pain in the sight of the Lord ; 
Yet ever — O ever till pride 

And pretence shall cease to revile, 
The inner recess of the heart must confess 

We are not always glad when we smile. 
James Whitcomb Rjxey. 



PEGGING AWAY. 

A Lesson in Perseverance. 

There was an old shoemaker, sturdy 
as steel, 
Of great wealth and repute in his 
day, 
Who, if questioned his secret of luck to 
reveal, 



Would chirp like a bird on a spray, 
" It isn't so much the vocation you're in, 

Or your liking for it," he would say, 
"As it is that forever, through thick and 

through thin, 
You should keep up a -pegging away." 

I have found it a maxim of value, whose 
truth 
Observation has proved in the main ; 
And which well might be vaunted a watch- 
word by youth 
In the labor of hand and of brain ; 
For even if genius and talent are cast 

Into work with the strongest display, 
You can never be sure of achievement at 
last 
Unless you keep pegging away. 

There are shopmen who might into states- 
men have grown, 
Politicians for handiwork made, 
Some poets who better in workshops had 
shone, 
And mechanics best suited in trade ; 
But when once in harness, however it fit, 
Buckle down to your work night and 
day, 
Secure in the triumph of hand or of wit, 
If you only keep pegging away. 

There are times in all tasks when the fiend 
Discontent 

Advises a pause or a change, 
And, on field far away and irrelevant bent, 

The purpose is tempted to range ; 
Never heed, but in sound recreation restore 

Such traits as are slow to obey, 
And then, more persistent and stanch than 
before, 

Keep pegging and pegging away. 

Leave fitful endeavors for such as would 
cast 
Their spendthrift existence in vain. 
For the secret of wealth in the present and 
past, 
And of fame and of honor, is plain ; 
It lies not in change, nor in sentiment nice, 

Nor in wayward exploit and display, 
But just in the shoemaker's homely advice 
To keep pegging and pegging away. 

1 ' New York Press , ' ' 



RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC 



271 



LIFE IS WHAT WE MAKE IT. 

Lifk is what we make it. To some, this 
may appear to be a very singular, 
if not extravagant statement. You 
look upon this life and upon this world, and 
you derive from them, it may be, a very 
different impression. You see the earth, 
perhaps, only as a collection of blind, ob- 
durate, inexorable elements and powers. 
You look upon the mountains that stand 
fast forever ; you look upon the seas that 
roll upon every shore their ceaseless tides ; 
you walk through the annual round of the 
seasons ; all things seem to be fixed, — sum- 
mer and winter, seed-time and harvest, 
growth and decay, — and so they are. 

But does not the mind spread its own hue 
over all these scenes ? Does not the cheer- 
ful man make a cheerful world ? Does not 
the sorrowing man make a gloomy world ? 
Does not every mind make its own world ? 
Does it not, as if indeed a portion of the 
Divinity were imparted to it, almost create 
the scene around it? Its power, in fact, 
scarcely falls short of the theory of those 
philosophers, who have supposed that the 
world had no existence at all, but in our 
own minds. 

So again with regard to human life ; — it 
seems to many, probably, unconscious as 
they are of the mental and moral powers 
which control it, as if it were made up of 
fixed conditions, and of immense and im- 
passable distinctions. But upon all condi- 
tions presses down one impartial law. To 
all situations, to all fortunes, high or low, 
the mind gives their character. They are 
in effect, not what they are in themselves, 
but what they are to the feelings of their 
possessors. 

The king upon his throne and amidst his 
court, may be a mean, degraded, miserable 
man ; a slave to ambition, to voluptuous- 
ness , to fear , to eve?y low passion . The peas- 
ant in his cottage, maybe the real monarch, 
— the moral master of his fate, — the free and 
lofty being, more than a prince in his hap- 
piness, more than a king in honor. And 
shall the mere names which these men bear, 
blind us to the actual position which they 
occupy amidst God's creation ? No : be- 
neath the all-powerful law of the heart, the 



master is often the slave ; and the slave is 
the master. 

It is the same creation, upon which the 
eyes of the cheerful and the melancholy man 
are fixed ; yet how different are the aspects 
which it bears to them ! To the one it is all 
beauty and gladness ; ' ' the waves of the 
ocean roll in light, and the mountains are 
covered with day." It seems to him as if 
life went forth, rejoicing upon every bright 
wave, and every shining bough, shaken in 
the breeze. It seems as if there were more 
than the eye seeth; a presence of deep joy 
among the hills and the valleys, and upon 
the bright waters. 

But the gloomy man, stricken and sad at 
heart, stands idly or mournfully gazing at 
the same scene, and what is it to him ? The 
very light, — 

" Bright effluence of bright essence increate," 

yea, the very light seems to him as a leaden 
pall thrown over the face of nature. All 
things wear to his eye a dull, dim, and sickly 
aspect. The great train of the seasons is 
passing before him, but he sighs and turns 
away, as if it were the train of a funeral 
procession ; and he wonders within himself 
at the poetic representations and sentimen- 
tal rhapsodies that are lavished upon a 
world so utterly miserable. 

Here then, are two different worlds, in 
which these two classes of beings live ; and 
they are formed and made what they are, 
out of the very same scene, only by differ- 
ent states of mind in the beholders. The 
eye maketh that which it looks upon. The 
ear maketh its own melodies or discords. 
The world without reflects the world with- 
in. ORVILIvF Dbwky. 



GOOD=NATURE. 

A practical reading on any occasion when it is desirable to 
admonish the audience. 

Good -nature; — what a blessing ! With- 
out it a man is like a wagon without 
springs, he has the full benefit of 
every stone and way-rut. Good-nature is 
the prime-minister of a good conscience. 
It tells of the genial spirit within, and 
good-nature never fails of a wholesome 
effect without. 



272 



RELIGIOUS, MORAL AND DIDACTIC 



Good-nature is not only the government 
of one's own spirit, but it goes far in its 
effects upon those of others. It manifests 
itself on every street ; it humanizes man ; 
it softens the friction of a business world. 
Good-nature is the harmonious act of con- 
science. Good-nature in practical affairs is 
better than any other ; better than what 
men call justice; better than dignity ; better 
than standing on one's rights, which is so 
often the narrowest and worst place to 
stand on one can find. 

A man who knows how to hold on to his 
temper is the man who is respected by the 
community. And one who has a good 
nature, successfully travels about as does 
he who goes upon the principle— little of 
baggage, but plenty of money ! A man 
who is armed with hopefulness, cheerful- 
ness, and a genial spirit, is one who is 
going to be of practical and beneficent 
usefulness to his fellow-man. There are no 
things by which the troubles and difficulties 
of this life can be resisted better than with 
wit and humor. And let the happy person 
who possesses these — if he be brought into 
the folds of the church — not allow conver- 
sion to deprive him of them. God has 
constituted these in man, and especially 
when they are so salient in meeting good- 
naturedly the trials of this world, they 
should be used. Happiness, at last, is 
dependent upon a soul that has holy com- 
munion with its Creator — " for in Him we 
have life eternal." Men also fail in happi- 
ness because they refuse to read the great 
lessons found in the great book of nature. 
Happiness is to be sought in the possession 
of true manhood rather than in its internal 
conditions. 

Henry Ward Beechkr. 



\ 



DON'T FRET. 



D 



on't fret if your neighbor earns more 
than you do. 
Don't frown if he gets the most 
trade ; 



Don't envy your friend if he rides in a 
coach, 
Don't mind if you're left in the shade. 

Don't rail at the schoolboy who fails in his 
task, 
Nor envy the one who succeeds ; 
Don't laugh at the man who is Poverty's 
slave, 
Nor think the rich never have needs. 

It's not wisdom to covet our neighbor's 
good gifts ; 
We would seldom change places, I 
ween, 
If we knew all our neighbor's affairs as our 
own, 
For things are not what they seem. 

You see the rich merchant enjoying his 
ride, 

And think he exults over you ; 
You do not imagine that he feels the same, 

And thinks you more blest of the two . 

You see people pass in and out of a store; 

But you must not judge business thereby, 
You must look at the books, at the way they 
" foot up," 

Ere you venture your judgment to try. 

You don't know what you say when you 
envy a man 
Either fortune, or friends, or a home ; 
His fortune and friends may be only in 
name, 
And his home far less blest than your 
own. 

You may know the old adage, which teaches 
the fact, 

That a skeleton must be somewhere ; 
If not found in library, kitchen, or hall, 

It is hid in the closet with care. 

So don't envy the blest, nor despise the 
outcast, 
Don't judge by the things which you see ; 
Make the burdens of men as light as you 
can, 
And the lighter your burden will be, 



Part VIII 

TEMPERANCE READINGS 



A I \hk following selections will be found helpful in arranging for entertainment at tem- 
perance meetings as well as for general occasions. Not only do we all need to be 
trained to think and speak on religious, and political themes — but also upon questions 
which affect social happiness — of these temperance is popular and important. 



WATER AND RUM. 

The following apostrophe on Water and execration on Rum. 
by John B. Gough, was never published in full until after his 
death. He furnished it to a young friend many years ago, who 
promised not to publish it while he was on the lecture platform. 

Watkr! There is no poison in that 
cup ; no fiendish spirit dwells be- 
neath those crystal drops to lure 
you and me and all of us to ruin ; no 
spectral shadows play upon its waveless 
surface , no widows' groans or orphans' 
tears rise to God from those placid foun- 
tains ; misery, crime, wretchedness, woe, 
want and rags come not within the hallowed 
precincts where cold water reigns supreme. 
Pure now as when it left its native heaven, 
giving vigor to our youth, strength to our 
manhood, and solace to our old age. Cold 
water is beautiful and bright and pure every- 
where. In the moonlight fountains and the 
sunny rills ; in the warbling brook and the 
giant river ; in the deep tangled wildwood 
and the cataract's spray ; in the hand of 
beauty or on the lips of manhood — cold 
water is beautiful everywhere. 

Rum ! There is a poison in that cup. 
There is a serpent in that cup whose sting 
is madness and whose embrace is death. 
There dwells beneath that smiling surface 
a fiendish spirit which for centuries has been 
wandering over the earth, carrying on a war 
of desolation and destruction against man- 
kind , blighting and mildewing the noblest af- 
fections of the heart, and corrupting with its 
foul breath the tide of human life and 
changing the glad, green earth into a lazar- 
house. Gaze on it .! But shudder as you 



gaze ! Those sparkling drops are murder 
in disguise ; so quiet now, yet widows' 
groans and orphans' tears and maniacs' yells 
are in that cup. The worm that dieth not 
and the fire that is not quenched are in that 
cup. 

Peace and hope and love and truth dwell 
not within that fiery circle where dwells that 
desolating monster which men call rum. 
Corrupt now as when it left its native hell, 
giving fire to the eye, madness to the brain, 
and ruin to the soul. Rum is vile and 
deadly and accursed everywhere. The 
poet would liken it in its fiery glow to 
the flames that flicker around the abode of 
the damned. The theologian would point 
you to the drunkard's doom, while the his- 
torian would unfold the dark record of the 
past and point you to the fate of empires 
and kingdoms lured to ruin by the siren 
song of the tempter, and sleeping now in 
cold obscurity, the wrecks of what once 
were great, grand and glorious. Yes, rum 
is corrupt and vile and deadly, and accursed 
everywhere. Fit type and semblance of 
all earthly corruption ! 

Part II. 

Base art thou yet, oh, Rum, as when the 
wise man warned us of thy power and bade 
us flee thy enchantment. Vile art thou yet 
as when thou first went forth on thy unholy 
mission — filling earth with desolation and 
madness, woe and anguish. Deadly art 
thou yet as when thy envenomed tooth first 
took fast hold on human hearts, and thy 
serpent tongue first drank up the warm life- 



273 



274 



TEMPERANCE READINGS 



blood of immortal souls . Accursed art thou 
yet as when the bones of thy first victim 
rotted in a damp grave, and its shriek 
echoed along the gloomy caverns of hell. 
Yes, thou infernal spirit of rum, through all 
past time hast thou been, as through all com- 
ing time thou shalt be, accursed everywhere. 

In the fiery fountains of the still ; in the 
seething bubbles of the caldron ; in the 
kingly palace and the drunkard's hovel ; in 
the rich man's cellar and the poor man's 
closet ; in the pestilential vapors of foul 
dens and in the blaze of gilded saloons ; 
in the hand, of beauty and on the lip of 
manhood. Rum is vile and deadly and 
accursed everywhere. 

Rum, we yield not to thy unhallowed in- 
fluence, and together we have met to plan 
thy destruction. And by what new name 
shall we call thee, and to what shall we 
liken thee when we speak of thy attributes ? 
Others may call thee child of perdition, the 
base-born progeny of sin and Satan, the 
murderer of mankind and the destroyer of 
immortal souls ; but I will give thee a new 
name among men and crown thee with a new 
horror, and that new name shall be the 
sacramental cup of the Rum-Power, and I 
will say to all the sons and daughters of 
earth— Dash it down! And thou, Rum, 
shalt be my text in my pilgrimage among 
men, and not alone shall my tongue utter 
it, but the groaris of orphans in their agony 
and the cries of widows in their desolation 
shall proclaim it the enemy of home, the 
traducer of childhood and the destroyer of 
manhood, and whose only antidote is the 
sacramental cup of temperance, cold water ! 
John B. Gough. 



THE COST OF THE FIRST DRINK. 

For a Temperance Entertainment. 

The following tableau may be rendered very impressive by 
allowing the curtain to rise, showing a young man with a 
thoughtful face standing in the background holding in his hand 
a glass of wine, on which he is gazing intently, while some one 
at the side of the stage pronounces impressively the following 
words : 

( ClV /Ty friends, we behold in this tableau a 

lVX young man with the first glass of 

intoxicating liquor in his hand. 

He is counting the cost of introducing 

into his system this ' slow poison of 



death.' He is about to take a step 
that will fasten upon him, perhaps, a 
habit that has been the ruin of ten 
thousand of the world's bright and promis- 
ing men. Well does he pause before drink- 
ing to count the cost. He is counting the 
cost of a burning brain ; counting the cost 
of a palsied hand ; counting the cost of a 
staggering step ; counting the cost of broken 
hearts and of tear-stained pillows ; counting 
the cost of a blighted home ; counting the 
cost of the self-respect which oozes out at 
the finger tips as they clasp the sparkling 
curse ; counting the cost of the degradation 
and disgrace of a ruined body and a lost 
soul. What should every young man do 
in this critical situation ? This young man 
has counted the cost. L,et him give us his 
answer." 

As the speaker stands silently, pointing his finger at the man 
in the tableau, his hold upon the glass, is suddenly loosed, and 
it falls to the floor, dashing in pieces. 



THE FACE ON THE FLOOR. 

5/htAwas a balmy summer evening, and a 
X goodly crowd was there 

That well nigh filled Joe's barroom 
on the corner of the square, 
And as songs and witty stories came through 

the open door ; 
A vagabond crept slowly in and posed upon 
the floor. 

' ' Where did it come from ? ' ' some one said ; 

" The wind has blown it in." 
"What does it want?" another cried, 

" Some whiskey, beer, or gin ? " 
" Here, Toby, seek him, if your stomach's 

equal to the work, 
I wouldn't touch him with a fork, he's as 

filthy as a Turk." 

This badinage the poor wretch took with 

stoical good grace, 
In fact, he smiled as if he thought he'd 

struck the proper place ; 
" Come, boys, I know there's kindly hearts 

among so good a crowd ; 
To be in such good company would make a 

deacon proud. 

1 ' Give me a drink ! That's what I want, I'm 
out of funds, you know, 



TEMPERANCE READINGS 



275 



When I had cash to treat the gang, this 

hand was never slow ; 
What ? You laugh as if you thought this 

pocket never held a sou ; 
I once was fixed as well, my boys, as any 

one of you. 

"There, thanks, that braced me nicely, 

God bless you, one and all, 
Next time I pass this good saloon I'll make 

another call ; 
Give you a song? No, I can't do that, my 

singing days are past, 
My voice is cracked, my throat's worn out 

and my lungs are going fast. 

" Say, give me another whiskey and I'll 

tell you what I'll do — 
I'll tell you a funny story, and a fact, I 

promise, too ; 
That I was ever a decent man, not one of 

you would think, 
But I was, some four or five years back, 

say, give us another drink. 

" Fill her up, Joe, I want to put some life 
into my frame — 

Such little drinks to a bum like me are mis- 
erably tame ; 

Five fingers — there, that's the scheme — and 
corking whiskey, too, 

Well, boys, here's luck, and landlord, my 
best regards to you. 

''You've treated me pretty kindly and I'd 

like to tell you how 
I came to be the dirty sot you see before 

you now ; 
As I told you, once I was a man, with 

muscle, frame and health, 
And, but for a blunder, ought to have made 

considerable wealth. 

' ' I was a painter — not one that daubed on 

bricks and wood, 
But an artist, and, for my age, was rated 

pretty good ; 
I worked hard at my canvas, and was 

bidding fair to rise ; 
For gradually I saw the star of fame before 

my eyes. 

"I made a picture, perhaps you've seen, 
'tis called the Chase of Fame ; 



It brought me fifteen hundred pounds, and 

added to my name ; 
And then, I met a woman — now comes the 

funny part — 
With eyes that petrified my brain, and 

sunk into my heart. 

' ' Why don't you laugh ? 'Tis funny that 

the vagabond you see 
Could ever love a woman and expect her 

love for me ; 
But 'twas so, and for a month or two her 

smile was freely given ; 
And when her loving lips touched mine, it 

carried me to heaven. 

" Boys, did you ever see a girl for whom 
your soul you'd give, 

With a form like the Milo Venus, too beau- 
tiful to live, 

With eyes that would beat the Kohinoor 
and a wealth of chestnut hair ? 

If so, 'twas she, for there never was another 
half so fair. 

' ' I was working on a portrait one afternoon 

in May, 
Of a fair-haired boy, a friend of mine who 

lived across the way, 
And Madeline admired it, and much to my 

surprise, 
Said that she'd like to know the man that 

had such dreamy eyes. 

" It didn't take long to know him, and 

before the month had flown, 
My friend had stole my darling, and I was 

left alone ; 
And ere a year of misery had passed above 

my head, 
The jewel I had treasured so had tarnished 

and was dead. 

"That's why I took to drink, boys. Why, 

I never saw you smile, 
I thought you'd be amused and laughing 

all the while ; 
Why, what's the matter, friend ? There's a' 

tear-drop in your eye, 
Come, laugh like me, 'tis only babes and 

women that should cry. 

"Say, boys, if you'll give me another 
whiskey, I'll be glad, 



276 



TEMPERANCE READINGS 



And I'll draw right here, the picture of 
the face that drove me mad ; 

Give me that piece of chalk with which you 
mark the base-ball score — 

And you shall see the lovely Madeline 
upon the barroom floor." 

Another drink, and with chalk in hand, the 

vagabond began 
To sketch a face that well might buy the 

soul ol any man, 
Then , as he placed another lock upon the 

shapely head, 
With a fearful shriek he leaped and fell 

across the picture — dead, 

H. Antoine D'Arcy. 



APPEAL FOR TEHPERANCE. 

In no cause in which his sympathies were enlisted was Mr. 
Grady more active and earnest than in that of temperance. The 
following extract is from one of his speeches delivered during the 
exciting local campaign in Georgia in 1887. 

My friends, hesitate before you vote 
liquor back into Atlanta, now that it 
is shut out. Don't trust it. It is 
powerful, aggressive and universal in its 
attacks. To-night it enters an humble 
home to strike the roses from a woman's 
cheek, and to-morrow it challenges this 
Republic in the halls of Congress. To-day 
it strikes a crust from the lips of a starving 
child, and to-morrow levies tribute from the 
government itself There is no cottage in 
this city humble enough to escape it — no 
palace strong enough to shut it out. It 
defies the law when it cannot coerce suffrage. 
It is flexible to cajole, but merciless in 
victory. It is the mortal enemy of peace 
and order. The despoiler of men, the ter- 
tor of women, the cloud that shadows the 
face of children, the demon that has dug 
more graves and sent more souls unshrived 
to judgment than all the pestilences that 
have wasted life since God sent the plagues 
to Egypt, and all the wars since Joshua stood 
beyond Jericho. O my countrymen ! loving 
God and humanity, do not bring this grand 
old city again under the dominion of that 
power. It can profit no man by its return. 
It can uplift no industry, revive no interest, 
remedy no wrong. You know that it can- 
not. It comes to turn, and it shall profit 
mainly by the ruin of your sons and mine, 



It comes to mislead human souls and crush 
human hearts. under its rumbling wheels. 
It comes to bring gray-haired mothers down 
in shame and sorrow to their graves. It 
comes to turn the wife's love into despair 
and her pride into shame. It comes to still 
the laughter on the lips of little children. 
It comes to stifle all the music of the home 
and fill it with silence and desolation. It 
comes to ruin your body and mind, to wreck 
your home, and it knows that it must meas- 
ure its prosperity by the swiftness and cer- 
tainty with which it wreaks this work. 

H. W. Grady. 



Y 



THE MEN BEHIND THE VOTE. 

ou have heard of the man behind the 
gun, 

Who guards the fort of the wave, 
Whose unerring aim 
vSaves his land from shame, 
And marks him a hero brave. 



But behind the man behind the gun 
Stands the country true and right ; 

And heroes brave 

Both on land and wave 

Are guarded by her great might. 

And we are the men behind the land 
That enlists the best of her youth, 

And through them we fight 

For justice and right, 

And stand in defense of the truth. 

You have heard of the man behind the bar, 
Who, by greed of gain beguiled, 
Trails his victim's name 
In the slime of shame, 

And curses the wife and the child. 

But behind the man behind the bar 
Is the ballot pure and white, 

And the villains vile 

Who with drink defile 

Are shielded as though in the right. 

And we are the men behind the vote 
To license the man at the bar, 
Making bold to proclaim 
That we sanction the shame 
Of rum's iniquitous war. 

Rkv. Norman Pi,ass. 



TEMPERANCE READINGS 



277 



THE POWER OF HABIT. 

Adapted to the development of transition in pitch, and a very- 
spirited utterance. 

IrKmkmbbr once riding from Buffalo to 
the Niagara Falls. I said to a gentle- 
man, " What river is that, sir ? " 

" That," said he, "is Niagara river." 

" Well, it is a beautiful stream," said I ; 
" bright, and fair, and glassy. How far off 
are the rapids ? ' ' 

" Only a mile or two," was the reply. 

"Is it possible that only a mile from us 
we shall find the water in the turbulence 
which it must show near the Falls ! ' ' 

"You will find it so, sir." And so I 
found it ; and the first sight of Niagara I 
shall never forget. 

Now, launch your bark on that Niagara 
river ; it is bright, smooth, beautiful and 
glassy. There is a ripple at the bow ; the 
silver wake you leave behind adds to your 
enjoyment. Down the stream you glide, 
oars, sails, and helm in proper trim, and 
you set out on your pleasure excursion. 

Suddenly some one cries out from the 
bank, " Young men, ahoy ! " 

"What is it?" 

1 ' The rapids are below you ! ' ' 

' ' Ha ! ha ! we have heard of the rapids : 
but we are not such fools as to get there. 
If we go too fast, then we shall up with 
the helm , and steer to the shore ; we will 
set the mast in the socket, hoist the sail, 
and speed to the land. Then on, boys ; 
don't be alarmed, there is no danger." 

" Young men, ahoy there ! " 

"What is it?" 

' ' The rapids are below you ! ' ' 

" Ha ! ha ! we will laugh and quaff; all 
things delight us. What care we for the 
future ! No man ever saw it. Sufficient 
for the day is the evil thereof. We will 
enjoy life while we may, will catch pleasure 
as it flies. This is enjoyment ; time enough 
to steer out of danger when we are sailing 
swiftly with the current." 

' ' Young men , ahoy ! ' ' 

"What is it?" 

"Beware! beware! The rapids are 
below you ! " 

1 ' Now you see the water foaming all 
around. See how fast you pass that point ! 
Up with the helm ! Now turn ! Pull hard ! 



Quick ! quick ! quick ! pull for your lives ! 
pull till the blood starts from your nostrils, 
and the veins stand like whip-cords upon 
your brow ! Set the mast in the socket ! 
hoist the sail ! Ah ! ah ! it is too late ! 
Shrieking, howling, blaspheming, over they 
go." 

Thousands go over the rapids of intem- 
perance every year, through the power of 
habit, crying all the while, " When I find 
out that it is injuring me, I will give it up ! " 
John B. Gough. 



ANEW DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. 

Suited to the organization of a Temperance Society, or an oc- 
casion where ihe Temperance cause is to be advocated. The 
Rev. F. O- Blair, author of the article, read it on July 4, 1883, at 
Lebanon, Ills., at a Temperance picnic. The reader should as- 
sume the dignified, earnest and forcible tone suitable to the read- 
ing of the great American Declaration. 

When in the course of human events it 
becomes necessary for a people to 
dissolve their connection with the 
Government to which they have hitherto 
owed allegiance, a decent respect for the 
opinions of mankind demands that the 
causes should be clearly set forth which 
impel them to the separation. 

We hold these truths to be self-evident : 
That all men are created equal ; that they 
are endowed by their Creator with certain 
inalienable rights ; that among these are 
life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness ; 
that to secure these rights, governments are 
instituted among men, deriving their just 
powers from the consent of the governed ; 
that, whenever any form of government 
becomes destructive of these ends, it is the 
right and duty of the people to alter, or to 
abolish it ; that it is the first law of self- 
preservation that any State or Nation may, 
and of right ought to, do all those things 
which are necessary to perpetuate its own 
existence ; and to abolish all those practices 
and to counteract all those influences which 
are calculated to ruin the body politic, and 
destroy society. 

For many years the inhabitants of this 
country have suffered from the cruel acts 
and oppressive measures instituted by King 
Alcohol, with the evident design to reduce 
them under an absolute despotism, and after 
long and patient endurance of flagrant 
wrongs, and after having made many and 



278 



TEMPERANCE READINGS 



fruitless efforts to obtain redress, until it 
is plainly evident that nothing can be hoped 
from appeals to his justice or mercy, we, 
the people of these United States, having 
resolved to cast off the authority of this 
tyrant, do unite in this declaration of the 
causes and reasons which constrain us to 
take so important a step, and of the miseries 
and grievances which have been inflicted on 
us by him, until his government has become 
a burden too heavy to be borne. The his- 
tory of his course toward us in the past is 
a history of repeated injuries and usurpa- 
tion, all having in direct object the estab- 
lishment of an absolute tyranny over these 
States, and the subjection of the people, 
through their depraved appetites and pas- 
sions, to his complete control. 

To prove this, let facts be submitted to a 
candid world : — 

He has refused his assent to laws the 
most wholesome and necessary for the pub- 
lic good. 

He has caused the enactment of laws 
which have opened the sluiceways of 
destruction, pouring forth upon the people 
of this land a dreadful tide of intemperance, 
with all the attendant evils of drunkenness, 
disease and death. 

He has bribed in various ways, and under 
various disguises, the legislators, the judges, 
and the juries of the country to prevent the 
enactment and the execution of laws, how- 
ever needful for the welfare of the public, 
which would interfere with his nefarious 
traffic in intoxicating liquors, or prevent 
the accumulation of wealth by himself, at 
the expense of the comfort, the fortunes, 
the lives, and the future well-being of his 
victims. 

He has taken away our property, earned 
by patient, faithful labor, and reduced our 
families to beggary and want. 

He has diverted the wealth of the Nation 
from its proper office to the support of the 
criminal, the pauper, and the idiot, made 
such by his blighting influence. 

He has locked up vast sums of money 
from the legitimate uses of trade and com- 
merce in the jails, the penitentiaries, and 
the asylums, these having been made neces- 
sary by the vices and crimes he has stimu- 
lated into activity among the people. 



He has extorted many millions from the 
laborers of the Nation to be expended in 
maintaining the police forces, the courts of 
justice, and all the machinery of Govern- 
ment, devoted largely to a vain effort to 
remedy the evils he himself has inflicted 
upon society. 

He has transformed the fruits of the 
earth, given for the sustenance of man and 
beast, into a death-dealing poison which 
changes men into demons. 

He has diverted the labors of thousands 
from productive occupations to the prepara- 
tion and distribution of the fiery flood which 
desolates our land. He has smitten the 
people with insanity and idiocy, and filled 
our asylums with maniacs and drivelling 
idiots, and our prisons with criminals. 

He has enticed our boys from their 
homes, and sent them forth as tramps and 
vagabonds in the land, and, instead of good 
citizens, they have become the dangerous 
classes of society. 

He has won our young men from lives of 
sobriety, industry and frugality, to a course 
of drunkenness, indolence, and wasteful- 
ness. 

He has drawn away our young women 
from the paths of virtue to dens of infamy 
and frightful depths of degradation. 

He is responsible, directly or indirectly, 
for three-fourths of all the crimes com- 
mitted, and four-fifths of all the murders 
done. 

He has dragged down the gifted and 
noble of all classes from positions of honor, 
trust and usefulness, and with ruined repu- 
tations, and names disgraced, has con- 
signed them to a drunkard's grave and a 
drunkard's doom. 

He has blighted the sunny, happy years 
of childhood, and caused the little ones to 
pass their lives in squalor, misery and 
want ; and homes that might have been the 
abode of perennial happiness have been 
turned into habitations of infern.d misery. 

He has prostrated the public press to his 
purposes and uses, so that, too often, in- 
stead of nobly speaking out for justice and 
right, and the good of the people at large, 
it basely yields to his demands to be sus- 
tained in his efforts to crush and ruin our 
race. 



TEMPERANCE READINGS 



279 



He has infatuated very many of the office- 
seekers and office-holders with the belief 
that it is far more important to promote his 
interests than to labor for the welfare of the 
people at large. 

He has changed, in many places, the 
Holy Sabbath, with its hours of peaceful 
quiet, a day devoted to religious observ- 
ances and the worship of Almighty God, to 
a day of revelry, drunkenness, and de- 
bauchery. 

In every stage of these oppressions we 
have petitioned for redress in the most 
humble terms ; our repeated petitions have 
been answered only by repeated injury. A 
ruler whose character is thus marked by 
every act which may define a tyrant is unfit 
to be the sovereign of a free people. 

Nor have we been wanting in our atten- 
tions to those engaged in making and sell- 
ing alcoholic drinks. We have implored 
them to have pity upon the suffering wife 
and the ragged, starving children ; we have 
appealed to every sentiment of our common 
nature to induce them to withhold the 
deadly draught from our boys and young 
men and the habitual drunkard, but all in 
vain. They, too, have been deaf to the 
voice of justice and humanity, and have 
laughed us to scorn. 

We have exhausted all our resources in 
our endeavors to obtain relief from those 
engaged in the traffic in distilled and fer- 
mented liquors, and have utterly failed. 
The only course left us to pursue is to 
dissolve completely our connection with 
so unjust, so tyrannical, so oppressive a 
power. 

We, therefore, appealing to the Supreme 
Judge of the Universe for the rectitude of 
our intentions, do solemnly publish and 
declare that the people of this land are, 
and of right ought to be, free and indepen- 
dent ; that we are absolved from all alle- 
giance to King Alcohol, and to all his 
adherents ; that, as free and independent 
citizens of these United States, we have the 
right to break away from his control and to 
banish the tyrant from our land. 

And for the support of this declaration 
and the accomplishment of our arduous 
undertaking, we earnestly invoke the aid 
and sympathy of the civilized world, the 



fervent prayers of all Christian people, and 
the help and guidance of Almighty God. 
And we mutually pledge to each other our 
lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor. 
RKV. F. O. Blair. 



WHAT IS A MINORITY? 

What is a minority ? The chosen 
heroes of this earth have been in a 
minority. There is not a social, 
political, or religious privilege that you en- 
joy to-day that was not bought for you by 
the blood and tears and patient suffering of 
the minority. It is the minority that have 
vindicated humanity in every struggle. It 
is a minority that have stood in the van of 
every moral conflict, and achieved all that 
is noble in the history of the world. You 
will find that each generation has been 
always busy in gathering up the scattered 
ashes of the martyred heroes of the past, 
to deposit them in the golden urn of a na- 
tion's history. Look at Scotland, where 
they are erecting monuments — to whom ? — 
to the Covenanters. Ah, they were in a 
minority. Read their history, if you can, 
without the blood tingling to the tips of 
your fingers. These were in the minority, 
that, through blood, and tears, and bootings 
and. scourgings — dying the waters with their 
blood, and staining the heather with their 
gore — fought the glorious battle of religious 
freedom. Minority ! if a man stand up for 
the right, though the right be on the scaf- 
fold, while the wrong sits in the seat of 
government ; if he stand for the right, 
though he eat, with the right and truth, a 
wretched crust ; if he walk with obloquy 
and scorn in the by-lanes and streets, while 
the falsehood and wrong ruffle it in silken 
attire, let him remember that wherever the 
right and truth are there are always 

" Troops of beautiful, tall angels " 

gathered round him, and God Himself 
stands within the dim future, and keeps 
watch over His own ! If a man stands for 
the right and the truth, though every man's 
finger be pointed at him, though every 
woman's lip be curled at him in scorn, he 



28o 



TEMPERANCE READINGS 



stands in a majority ; for God and good 
angels are with him, and greater are they 
that are for him, than all they that be 



against him. 



John B. Gough. 



A BRAVE BOY. 

A Temperance Reading. 

U Qo this is our new cabin-boy ; " was 
O my inward exclamation, as I 
walked on deck and saw a dark- 
eyed, handsome youth, leaning against the 
railing and gazing with a sad, abstracted 
air into the foamy waves that were lustily 
dashing against the vessel. I had heard a 
good many remarks made about him by the 
crew, who did not like him because he 
seemed somewhat shy of them, and they 
were continually tormenting him with their 
rough jokes. He had refused to drink any 
intoxicating liquor since he came on board, 
and I was curious to know more about 
him. 

My interest and sympathy were aroused, 
and I resolved to watch over and protect 
him as far as possible from the ungovern- 
able temper of the captain, and the rough 
jokes of the sailors. 

A few days afterward I was standing be- 
side the captain, when suddenly rough 
shouts and laughter broke upon our ears ; 
we went to the forepart of the deck, and 
found a group of sailors trying to persuade 
Allen to partake of their grog. 

" Laugh on," I heard Allen's firm voice 
reply, "but I'll never taste a drop. You 
ought to be ashamed to drink it yourselves, 
much more to offer it to another." 

A second shout of laughter greeted the 
reply, and one of the sailors, emboldened by 
the captain's presence, who they all knew 
was a great drinker himself, approached the 
boy and said : 

" Now, my hearty, get ready to keel 
roight over on your beam end, whin ye've 
swallowed this." 

He was j ust going to pour the liquor down 
his throat when, quick as a flash, Allen 
seized the bottle and flung it far overboard. 
While the sailors were looking regretfully 
after the sinking bottle, Allen looked pale 



but composed at Captain Harden, whose 
face was scarlet with suppressed rage. I 
trembled for the boy's fate. Suddenly Cap- 
tain Harden seized him and cried out 
sternly : 

' ' Hoist this fellow aloft into the main top- 
sail. I'll teach him better than to waste my 
property ! " 

Two sailors approached him to execute 
the order ; but Allen quietly waved them 
back, and said in a low, respectful tone : 

" 111 go myself, captain, and I hope you 
will pardon me : I meant no offence." I 
saw his hand tremble a little as he took hold 
of the rigging. For one unused to the sea it 
was extremely dangerous to climb that height . 
For a moment he hesitated, as he seemed to 
measure the distance, but he quietly recov- 
ered himself, and proceeded slowly and care- 
fully. 

' ' Faster ! ' ' cried the captain , as he saw 
with what care he measured his steps, and 
faster Allen tried to go, but his foot slipped, 
and for a moment I stood horror struck, 
gazing up at the dangling form suspended 
by the arms in mid air. A coarse laugh 
from the captain, a jeer from the sailors, 
and Allen again caught hold of the rigging, 
and soon he was in the watch-basket. 

" Now, stay there, you young scamp, and 
get some of the spirit frozen out of you," 
muttered the captain, as he went down into 
the cabin. Knowing the captain's temper, 
I dared not interfere while he was in his 
present state of mind. By nightfall, how- 
ever, I proceeded to the cabin, and found 
him seated before the table, with a half 
empty bottle of his favorite champagne be- 
fore him. I knew he had been drinking 
freely, and therefore had little hope that 
Allen would be released ; still I ventured to 
say : 

" Pardon my intrusion, Captain Harden, 
but I'm afraid our cabin-boy will be sick if 
he is compelled to stay up there much 
longer." 

" Sick ! bah, not a bit of it ; he's got too 
much grit in him to yield to such nonsense ; 
no person on board my ship ever gets sick ; 
they know better than to play that game on 
me. But I'll go and see what he is doing, 
anyhow." 



TEMPERANCE READINGS 



2*1 



Upon reaching the deck he shouted 
through his trumpet : 

"Ho! my lad." 

" Aye, aye, sir," was the faint but prompt 
response from above, as Allen's face ap- 
peared, looking with eager hope for his re- 
lease. 

' ' How do you like your new berth ? ' ' was 
the captain's mocking question. 

11 Better than grog or whiskey, sir," came 
the quick reply from Allen. 

"If I allow you to descend t will you 
drink the contents of this glass ? ' ' and he 
held up, as he spoke, a sparkling glass of 
his favorite wine. 

" I have forsworn all intoxicating drinks, 
sir, and I will not break my pledge, even at 
the risk of my life." 

' ' There, that settles it, " said the captain, 
turning to me ; he's got to stay up there 
to-night ; he'll be toned down before morn- 
ing." 

By early dawn Captain Harden ordered 
him to be taken down, for to his call, " Ho, 
my lad ! " there was no reply, and he began 
to feel alarmed. A glass of warm wine and 
biscuit were standing ready for him beside 
the captain, who was sober now ; and when 
he saw the limp form of Allen carried into 
his presence by two sailors his voice soft- 
ened, as he said : 

" Here, my lad, drink that, and I will 
trouble you no more." 

With a painful gesture, the boy waved 
him back, and in a feeble voice, said : 

" Captain Harden, will you allow me to 
tell you a little of my history ? ' ' 

"Goon," said the captain, " but do not 
think it will change my mind ; you have to 
drink this just to show you how I bend stiff 
necks on board my ship. ' ' 

' ' Two weeks before I came on board this 
ship I stood beside my mother's coffin. I 
heard the dull thud of falling earth as the 
sexton filled the grave which held the last 
remains of my darling mother. I saw the 
people leave the spot ; I was alone, yes, 
alone, for she who loved me and cared for 
me was gone. I knelt for a moment upon 
the fresh turf, and while the hot tears rolled 
down my cheeks, I vowed never to taste 
the liquor which had broken my mother's 
heart and ruined my father's life. 

*7 



' ' Two days later, I stretched my hand 
through the prison bars, behind which my 
father was confined. I told him of my 
intention of going to sea. Do with me 
what you will, captain ; let me freeze to 
death in the mainmast ; throw me into 
the sea below, anything, but do not for 
dear mother's sake, force me to drink that 
poison which has ruined my father, and 
killed my mother. Do not let it ruin a 
mother's only son !" 

He sank back exhausted, and burst into 
a fit of tears. The captain stepped for- 
ward, and laying his hand, which trembled 
a little, upon the boy's head, said to the 
crew who had collected round : 

" For our mothers' sake, let us respect 
Allen Bancroft's pledge. And never," he 
continued, firing up, " let me catch any of 
you ill-treating him." 

He then hastily withdrew to his apart- 
ment. The sailors were scattered, and I 
was left alone with Allen. 

' ' Lieutenant, what does this mean ? Is 
it possible that — that — ' ' 

" That you are free," I added, " and that 
none will trouble you again." 

" Lieutenant," he said, " if I was not so 
ill and cold just now, I think I'd just toss 
my hat and give three hearty cheers for 
Captain Harden." 

He served on our vessel three years, and 
was a universal favorite. When he left Cap- 
tain Harden presented him with a handsome 
gold watch as a memento of his night in 
the mainmast, and the hearty sailor sent the 
youth away with a blessing on his head. 



THE TWO GLASSES. 

Temperance Recitation. 

THKRK sat two glasses, filled to the brim, 
On a rich man's table, rim to rim ; 
One was ruddy, and red as blood, 
And one was clear as the crystal flood. 

Said the glass of wine to his paler brother, 
" Let us tell tales of the past to each other. 
I can tell of banquet, and revel, and 

mirth, 
Where I was king, for I ruled in might, 
And the proudest and grandest souls on 

earth 



282 



TEMPERANCE READINGS 



Fell under my touch, as though struck 

with blight. 
From the heads of kings I have torn the 

crown , 
From the heights of fame I have hurled 

men down ; 
I have blasted many an honored name ; 
I have taken virtue and given shame ; 
I have tempted the youth with a sip, a 

taste, 
Which has made his future a barren waste. 
Far greater than any king am I, 
Or than any army beneath the sky ; 
I have made the arm of the driver fail, 
And sent the train from its iron rail ; 
I have made good ships go down at sea, 
And the shrieks of the lost were sweet 

to me ; 
For they said, ' Behold, how great you be ! 
Fame, strength, wealth, genius, before you 

fall, 
And your might and power are over all.' 
Ho ! ho ! pale brother, " laughed the wine, 
' ' Can you boast of deeds as great as 

mine ?" 

Said the water glass : " I can not boast 
Of a king dethroned, or a murdered host ; 
But I can tell of hearts that were sad, 
By my crystal drops made light and glad ; 
Of thirst I have quenched, and brows I've 

laved ; 
Of hands I have cooled, and souls I've 

saved. 
I have leaped through the valley, dashed 

down the mountain, 
Slept in the sunshine, and dripped from the 

fountain ; 
I have burst my cloud fetters and drooped 

from the sky, 
And everywhere gladdened the landscape 

and eye. 
I have eased the hot forehead of fever and 

pain, 
I have made the parched meadows grow 

fertile with grain ; 
I can tell of the powerful wheel of the mill 
That ground out the flour, and turned at my 

will ; 
I can tell of manhood, debased by you, 
That I have uplifted and crowned anew. 
I cheer, I help, I strengthen and aid, 
I gladden the heart of man and maid ; 



I set the chained wine captive free, 
And all are better for knowing me." 

These are the tales they told to each other, 
The glass of wine and its paler brother, 
As they sat together, filled to the brim, 
On a rich man's table, rim to rim. — 

Eeea Wheeler Wilcox. 



THE DRUNKARDS DAUGHTER, 

A woman who became an earnest temperance advocate and 
worker for total abstinence, after having been ruined in fortune 
and having her happiness wrecked by drink in her own home, was 
twitted by her former friends and called a fanatic. The following 
lines were written by her as a reply. 

Go, feel what I have felt, 
Go, bear what I have borne ; 
Sink 'neath a blow a father dealt, 
And the cold, proud world's scorn. 
Thus struggle on from year to year, 
Thy sole relief the scalding tear. 

Go, weep as I have wept 

O'er a loved father's fall ; 
See every cherished promise swept, 

Youth's sweetness turned to gall ; 
Hope's faded flowers strewed all the way. 
That led me up to woman's day. 

Go, kneel as I have knelt : 

Implore beseech and pray. 
Strive the besotted heart to melt, 

The downward course to stay ; 
Be cast with bitter curse aside, — 
Thy prayers burlesqued, thy tears defied. 

Go, stand where I have stood, 

And see the strong man bow ; 
With gnashing teeth, lips bathed in blood 

And cold and livid brow ; 
Go, catch his wandering glance, and see 
There mirrored his soul's misery. 

Go, hear what I have heard, — 

The sobs of sad despair, 
As memory's feeling fount hath stirred, 

And its revealings there 
Have told him what he might have been, 
Had he the drunkard's fate forseen. 

Go to my mother's side, 

And her crushed spirit cheer ; 
Thine own deep anguish hide, 

Wipe from her cheek the tear ; 
Mark her dimmed eye, her furrowed brow, 



TEMPERANCE READINGS 



283 



The gray that streaks her dark hair now, 
The toil-worn frame, the trembling limb, 
And trace the ruin back to him 
Whose plighted faith in early youth, 
Promised eternal love and truth, 
But who, forsworn, hath yielded up 
This promise to the deadly cup, 
And led her down from love and light, 
From all that made her pathway bright, 
And chained her there 'mid want and strife, 
That lowly thing, — a drunkard's wife ! 
And stamped on childhood's brow, so mild, 
That withering blight, — a drunkard's child! 

Go, hear, and see, and feel, and know 
All that my soul hath felt and known 

Then look within the wine cup's glow ; 
See if its brightness can atone ; 

Think of its flavor would you try, 

If all proclaimed, — 'Tis drink and die. 

Tell me how I hate the bowl, — 

Hate is a feeble word ; 
I loathe, abhor, my very soul 

By strong disgust is stirred 
Whene'er I see, or her ; or tell 

Of the DARK BEVERAGE OF HELI< ! 



PLEDGE WITH WINE. 

This selection may be easily converted into an effective 
dialogue by omitting the words and acting the parts between the 
remarks of the bride and her attendants. The company should 
be dressed in wedding attire. 

4 4 T>i,EDGE with wine — pledge with wine ! ' ' 

X cried the young and thoughtless 
Harry Wood. "Pledge with 
wine," ran through the brilliant crowd. 

The beautiful bride grew pale — the deci- 
sive hour had come, — she pressed her white 
hands together, and the leaves of her bridal 
wreath trembled on her pure brow ; her 
breath came quicker, her heart beat wilder. 
From her childhood she had been most 
solemnly opposed to the use of all wines 
and liquors. 

"Yes, Marion, lay aside your scruples 
for this once," said the judge in a low tone, 
going towards his daughter, " the company 
expect it ; do not so seriously infringe upon 
the rules of etiquette ; — in your own house 
act as you please ; but in mine, for this 
once please me. ' ' 

Every eye was turned towards the bridal 
pair . Marion 's principles were well known . 



Henry had been a convivialist, but of late 
his friends noticed the change in his man- 
ners, the difference in his habits — and to- 
night they watched him to see, as they sneer- 
ingly said, if he was tied down to a woman's 
opinion so soon. 

Pouring a brimming beaker, they held 
it with tempting smiles towards Marion. 
She was very pale, though more composed, 
and her hand shook not, as smiling back, 
she gratefully accepted the crystal tempter 
and raised it to her lips. But scarcely had 
she done so, when every hand was arrested 
by her piercing exclamation of " Oh, how 
terrible ! " " What is it ? " cried one and 
all, thronging together, for she had slowly 
carried the glass at arm's length, and was 
fixedly regarding it as though it were some 
hideous object. 

" Wait," she answered, while an inspired 
light shone from her dark eyes, " wait and 
I will tell you. I see," she added, slowly 
pointing one jewelled finger at the spark- 
ling ruby liquid, ' ' a sight that beggars all 
description ; and yet listen ; I will paint it 
for you if I can : It is a lonely spot ; tall 
mountains, crowned with verdure, rise in 
awful sublimity around ; a river runs 
through, and bright flowers grow to the 
water's edge. There is a thick, warm mist 
that the sun seeks vainly to pierce ; trees, 
lofty and beautiful, wave to the airy motion 
of the birds ; but there, a group of Indians 
gather ; they flit to and fro with something 
like sorrow upon their dark brows ; and in 
their midst lies a manly form, but his 
cheek, how deathly ; his eye wild with the 
fitful fire of fever. One friend stands beside 
him, nay, I should say kneels, for he is 
pillowing that poor head upon his breast. 

" Genius in ruins. Oh ! the high, holy- 
looking brow ! Why should death mark 
it, and he so young ? Look how he throws 
the damp curls ! see him clasp his hands ! 
hear his thrilling shrieks for like ! mark 
how he clutches at the form of his com- 
panion, imploring to be saved. Oh ! hear 
him call piteously his father's name ; see 
him twine his fingers together as he shrieks 
for his sister — his only sister — the twin of 
his soul — weeping for him in his distant 
native land. 



284 



TEMPERANCE READINGS 



" See ! " she exclaimed, while the bridal 
party shrank back, the untasted wine 
trembling in their faltering grasp, and the 
judge fell, overpowered, upon his seat; 
' ' see ! his arms are lifted to heaven ; he 
prays, how wildly, for mercy ! hot fever 
rushes through his veins. The friend 
beside him is weeping; awe-stricken, the 
dark men move silently, and leave the 
living and dying together." 

There was a hush in that princely parlor, 
broken only by what seemed a smothered 
sob, from some manly bosom. The bride 
stood yet upright, with quivering lip, and 
tears stealing to the outward edge of her 
lashes. Her beautiful arm had lost its 
tension, and the glass, with its little 
troubled red waves, came slowly towards 
the range of her vision. She spoke again ; 
every lip was mute. Her voice was low, 
faint, yet awfully distinct : she still fixed 
her sorrowful glance upon the wine- cup. 

"It is evening now ; the great white 
moon is coming up, and her beams lie 
gently on his forehead. He moves not; 
his eyes are set in their sockets ; dim are 
their piercing glances ; in vain his friend 
whispers the name of father and sister — 
death is there. Death ! and no soft hand, 
no gentle voice to bless and soothe him. 
His head sinks back ! one convulsive 
shudder ! he is dead ! " 

A groan ran through the assembly, so 
vivid was her description, so unearthly her 
look so inspired her manner, that what she 
described seemed actually to have taken 
place then and there. They noticed also, 
that the bridegroom hid his face in his 
hands and was weeping. 

"Dead!" she repeated again, her lips 
quivering faster and faster, and her voice 
more and more broken: "and there they 
scoop him a grave ; and there, without a 
shroud, they lay him down in the damp, 
reeking earth. The only son of a proud 



father, the only idolized brother of a fond 
sister. And he sleeps to-day in that distant 
country, with no stone to mark the spot. 
There he lies — my father's son — my own 
twin brother ! a victim to this deadly 
poison." "Father," she exclaimed, turn- 
ing suddenly, while the tears rained down 
her beautiful cheeks, " father, shall I drink 
it now ? 

The form of the old judge was convulsed 
with agony. He raised his head, but in a 
smothered voice he faltered — " No, no, my 
child ; in God's name, no." 

She lifted the glittering goblet, and 
letting it suddenly fall to the floor it was 
dashed into a thousand pieces. Many a 
tearful eye watched her movements, and 
instantaneously every wineglass was trans- 
ferred to the marble table on which it had 
been prepared. Then, as she looked at the 
fragments of crystal, she turned to the 
company, saying: " Iyet no friend, here- 
after, who loves me, tempt me to peril my 
soul for wine. Not firmer the everlasting 
hills than my resolve, God helping me, 
never to touch or taste that terrible poison. 
And he to whom I have given my hand ; 
who watched over my brother's dying form 
in that last solemn hour, and buried the 
dear wanderer there by the river in that 
land of gold, will, I trust, sustain me in 
that resolve. Will you not, my husband ? ' ' 

His glistening eyes, his sad, sweet smile 
was her answer. 

The judge left the room, and when an 
hour later he returned, and with a more 
subdued manner took part in the entertain- 
ment of the bridal guests, no one could fail 
to read that he, too, had determined to 
dash the enemy at once and forever from 
his princely rooms. 

Those who were present at that wedding, 
can never forget the impression so solemnly 
made. Many from that hour foreswore the 
social glass. 




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Part IX 



LITTLE FOLKS' SPEAKER 



^HpHK following selections, though arranged and adapted especially for children from 
4 to 1 2 years of age, may De recited by grown up people with excellent effect in imper- 
sonating child character. Entertainers will find in this collection many pleasing pieces 
with which to answer encores especially after the rendering of lengthy or difficult numbers. 
As a suggestion to those who train the little fellows we would say ' ' the artlessness of 
a child is the highest art." Above all things therefore, let the little reciters be natural. 
See that they comprehend the real spirit of the pieces and are able to take, for the time, 
the characters upon themselves. That done your task will be to teach them to speak 
distinctly. Natural child nature will take care of the rest. 



THE BABY. 



w 



here; did you come from, baby dear ? 
out of the everywhere into the here. 



Where did you get your eyes so blue ? 
Out of the sky as I came through. 

What makes the light in them sparkle and 

spin? 
Some of the starry spikes left in. 

Where did you get that little tear ? 
/ found it waiting when I got here. 

What makes your forehead so smooth and 

high? 
A soft hand stroked it as I went by. 

What makes your cheek like a warm white 

rose? 
Something better than any one knows. 

Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss ? 
Three angels gave me at once a kiss. 

Where did you get that pearly ear ? 
God spoke, and it came out to hear. 

Where did you get those arms and hands ? 
Love made itself into hooks and bands. 



Feet, whence did you come, you darling 

things ? 
From the same box as the cherubs' wings. 

How did they all just come to be you ? 
God thought about me, and so I grew. 

But how did you come to us, you dear ? 
God thought of you, and so I am here. 

George Macdonaed. 



HOW THE SERMON SOUNDED TO BABY. 

I know a little darling 
With lovely golden curls, 
With cheeks like apple blossoms, 
And teeth like rows of pearls. 

His ways are dear and winning, 
And though he is not three, 

He's very good at meeting — 
As sweet as sweet can be. 

But one day when the sermon 

Seemed rather long (he thought,) 

His eyes went straight to mamma's 
And her attention sought. 



287 



288 



LITTLE FOLKS > SPEAKER 



And then tie softly whispered, 

With just a little fret— 
" Say, mamma, ain't dat preacher 

Dot froo hollerin yet?" 

Mrs. J. M. Hunter. 



LAHENT OF A LITTLE GIRL. 

My brother Will, he used to be 
The nicest kind of girl, 
He wore a little dress like me, 
And had his hair in curl. 
We played with dolls and tea sets then. 

And every kind of toy ; 
But all those good old times are gone, 
Will turned into a boy. 

Mamma made him little suits, 

With pockets in his pants, 
And cut off all his yellow curls 

And sent them to my aunts ; 
And Will, he was so pleased, I believe 

He almost jumped for joy, 
And I must own I didn't like 

Will turned into a boy. 

And now he plays with horrid tops 

I don't know how to spin, 
And marbles that I try to shoot, 

But never hit nor win, 
And leapfrog — I can't give a "back " 

Like Charlie, Frank or Roy ; 
Oh, no one knows how bad I feel 

Since Will has turned a boy. 



A LITTLE GIRL'S SPEECH ABOUT HER- 
SELF. 

I LOVE my papa, that I do, 
And mamma says she loves him too ; 
And both of them love me, I know, 
A thousand ways their love they show. 
But papa says he fears some day 
With some mean scamp I'll run away. 



A BOY'S MOTHER. 



My mother, she's so good to me, 
Ef I was good as I could be 
I couldn't be as good. No, sir, 
Can't any boy be good as her ! 

She loves me when I'm glad or mad ; 
She loves when I'm good or bad ; 



An' what's the funniest thing she says 
She loves me when she punishes. 

I don't like her to punish me ; 
That don't hurt, but it hurts to see 
Her cryin' — nen I cry ; an' nen 
We both cry — an' be good again. 

She loves me when she cuts and sews 
My little coat and Sunday clothes ; 
An' when my pa comes home to tea 
She loves him 'most as much as me. 

She laughs and tells him all I said, 
An' grabs me up an' pats my head ; 
An' I hug her an' hug my pa, 
An' love him purt' nigh much as ma. 
James Whitcomb Rieey. 



WHY I'D RATHER BE A BOY. 

A Very Little Boy's Speech. 

I AM just a little fellow, and I can't say 
much. My speech is this : I am glad 
I am a boy ! I had rather be a boy 
than a girl, or anything. Boys have good 
times. They can swim and skate and 
coast, ride horseback, climb trees, play hop- 
toad, make cartwheels of themselves, and 
slide down the banisters ; and most girls 
can't. I wouldn't be a girl — no — not if 
you'd give me the best jack-knife in the 
world ! 



GRANDMOTHER'S CHAIR. 

Grandmother sits in her old arm-chair, 
Looking so placid and sweet ; 
Smiling so kindly all the while, 
On the little ones at her feet. 
They love to be near grandmother's chair, 

To feel her dear hand on their head, 
For so well they know, it is grandmother's 
way, 
And they are never afraid. 

It was grandmother, too, to whom they 
would go, 

With all of their troubles each day ; 
For grandmother knew just what to do, 

In such a kind, loving way. 
If a cut, or a bruise, or a little sad heart, 

Came to her chair for relief, 



LITTLE FOLKS' SPEAKER 



289 



our 



[t was grandmother's way at once to re- 
spond, 
To soothe every childish grief. 

But grandmother sits no more in her chair, 

'Tis vacant, and silent, and lone ; 
She left us one day — now long ago — 

'Tis sad to know she is gone. 
We love the old chair ; 'tis bound to 
hearts 

With cords of the strongest love ; 
We touch it reverently as we pass, 

As we think of the dear one above. 
We are sorry we ever were cross to her, 

Or gave her a moment of pain ; 
We are sure we'd be very kind to her 

Could she only be with us again. 

Alice M. Payntkr. 



A GOOD COUNTRY. 

For a very little Girl. 

The speaker should wear the national colors, either combined 
in a dress or as decorations to a white dress. 

I wear these three colors to-day, 
The beautiful red, white and blue, 
Because 'tis the Fourth of July, 
And I thought I'd celebrate too. 

I know that our country began 

(Though I'm sure I cannot tell why,) 

One morning so long, long ago, 
And that was the Fourth of July. 

But one thing for certain and sure 

I've found out, although I'm so small, 

'Tis a country good to be in 

For little folks, big folks and all. 



THE MEANING OF THE AMERICAN FLAG. 

Recitation for a Boy. 

THE American flag means, then, all that 
the fathers meant in the Revolu- 
tionary War ; it means all that the 
Declaration of Independence meant ; it 
means all that the Constitution of a peo- 
ple, organizing for justice, for liberty and 
for happiness meant. 

The American flag carries American 
ideas, American history, and American 
feelings. 

Beginning with the colonies and coming 
down to our time, in its sacred heraldry, 



in its glorious insignia, it has gathered and 
stored chiefly this supreme idea : Divine 
Right of Liberty in Man. 

Every color means liberty, every thread 
means liberty, every form of star and beam 
of light means liberty — liberty through law, 
and laws for liberty. Accept it, then, in all 
its fullness of meaning. It it is not a 
painted rag. It is a whole national history. 
It is the Constitution. It is the Govern- 
ment. It is the emblem of the sovereignty 
of the people. It is the Nation. 

Henry Ward Beecher. 



KATIE'S WANTS. 

For a little girl, 4 to 6 years. Train to speak naturally 
id distinctly. 



M 



E want Christmas tree, 
Yes, me do ; 
Want an orange on it, 
Lots of candy, too. 



Want some new dishes, 

Want a red pail, 
Want a rocking-horse 

With a very long tail. 

Want a little watch 

That says, "Tick, tick! " 
Want a newer dolly, 

'Cause Victoria's sick 

Want so many things 
Don't know what to do ; 

Want a little sister, 
Little brother, too. 

Won't you buy 'em, mamma? 

Tell me why you won't ? 
Want to go to bed ? 

No, me don't. 

Eva M. Tappan. 



WHY BETTY DIDN'T LAUGH. 

i i TTThen I was at the party," 

V V Said Betty (aged just four), 

" A little girl fell off her chair, 
Right down upon the floor ; 
And all the other little girls 
Began to laugh but me — 
I didn't laugh a single bit," 
Said Betty, seriously. 



290 



LITTLE FOLKS ' SPEAKER 



' ' Why not ? ' ' her mother asked her, 

Full of delight to find 
That Betty — bless her little heart ! — 

Had been so sweetly kind. 
" Why didn't you laugh, darling? 

Or don't you like to tell ? " 
" I didn't laugh," said Betty, 

" 'Cause it was me that fell ! " 



THAT'S BABY. 



Repeat the words, " That's baby," slowly and with rising in- 
flection, every time growing more emphatic. 

One little row of ten little toes 
To go along with a brand new nose, 
Bight little fingers and two new thumbs 
That are just as good as sugar plums — 
That's baby. 

One little pair of round, new eyes, 
Like a little owl's, so big and wise, 
One little place they call a mouth, 
Without one tooth from north to south — 
That's baby. 

Two little cheeks to kiss all day, 
Two little hands so in his way, 
A brand new head, not very big, 
That seems to need a brand new wig — 
That's baby. 

Dear little row of ten little toes ! 
How much we love them nobody knows ; 
Ten little kisses on mouth and chin ; 
What a shame he wasn't born a twin — 
That's baby. 



THE NEW BABY. 

Muzzbr's bought a baby— 
Ittle bits of zing ; 
Zink I mos' could put him 
Froo my rubber ring. 

Ain't he awful ugly ? 

Ain't he awful pink ? 
Just come dowd from heaven !— 

Dat's a fib, I zink. 

Doctor told annuzer 

Great big awful lie ; 
Nose ain't out of joyent — 

Dat ain't why I cry. 

Zink x ought to love him ? 
No, I won't — so zere ' 
Nassy, crying baby — 
Ain't got any hair. 

Send me off wiz Biddy 

Every single day ; 
"Bea good boy, Charley — 

Run away and play." 

Dot all my nice kisses — 
Dot my place in bed ; 

Mean to take my drumstick 
And hit him on ze head. 



THE ONLY CHILD. 

hich is my nicest plaything ? 
I really cannot tell ; 
I have a china dolly, 
I have a silver bell. 



w 



I have a string of beads ; 
My mother often tells me 

I have all a baby needs. 
But if I had a brother 

As big as cousin Ben, 
Or if I had a sister 

Like little Lilly Fen, 
We should have such times together. 

'T would drive the neighbors wild — 
Oh ! it's very lonesome 

To be an only child ! 



DOLL ROSY'S BATH. 

Scene. A toy wash tub, small girl comes on with 
doll. 

"Hpis time Doll Rosy had a bath, 
-L And she'll be good I hope ; 
She likes the water well enough, 
But doesn't like the soap. 
{Proceeds to undress the doll, which done, she 
continues.) 

Now soft I'll rub her with a sponge, 

Her eyes and nose and ears, 
And splash her fingers in the bowl, 

And never mind the tears. 
{Having finished she holds the doll up in surprise.} 

There now — oh, my ! what have I done ? 

I've washed the skin off — see ! 
Her pretty pink and white are gone 

Entirely ! oh, dear me ! 

{Hugs doll up and runs off stage.) 



LITTLE FOLKS ' SPEAKER 



291 



LULU'S COMPLAINT. 

I'SK a poor 'ittle sorrowful baby, 
For B'idget is 'way down 'tairs : 
My titten has scatched my fin'er, 

And Dolly won't say her p'ayers. 

I hain't seen my bootiful mamma 

Since ever so long ado ; 
An' I ain't her tunninest baby 

No londer, for B'idget says so. 

Mamma dot anoder new baby, 

Dod dived it — He did — yes'erday ; 

An' it kies, it kies — oh ! so defful ! 
I wis' He would take it away. 

I don't want no " sweet 'ittle sister ; " 
I want my dood mamma, I do ; 

I want her to tiss me and tiss me, 
An' tall me her p'ecious Lulu. 

I dess my dear papa will bin' me 

A 'ittle dood titten some day ; 
Here's nurse wid my mamma's new baby ; 

I wis' she would tate it away. 

Oh ! oh ! what tunnin' red fin'ers ! 

It sees me 'ite out of its eyes ; 
I dess we will teep it and dive it 

Some can'y whenever it kies. 

I dess I will dive it my dolly 

To play wid 'mos' every day ; 
An' I dess, I dess — Say, B'idget, 

Ask Dod not to tate it away. 



LITTLE TOMMIE'S FIRST SMOKE. 

I'VK been sick. 
Mamma said 'mokin' was a nasty, 
dirty, disgraceful habit, and bad for the 
window curtains. 

Papa said it wasn't. He said all wise 
men 'moked, and that it was good for rheu- 
matism, and that he didn't care for the win- 
dow curtains, not a — that thing what busts 
and drowns people ; I forgot its name. And 
he said women didn't know much anyway, 
and that they couldn't reason like men. 

So next day papa wasn't nice a bit — that 
day I frew over the accawarium, and papa 
'panked me — and I felt as if I had the rheu- 
matism ever' time I went to sit down, and 
so I just got papa's pipe and loaded it and 



'moked it, to cure rheumatism where papa 
'panked me. 

And they put mustard plaster on my tum- 
mick till they most burned a hole in it, I 
guess. 

I fink they fought I was going to die. 

I fought so too. 

Mamma said I was goin' to be a little 
cherub, but I fought I was goin' to be awful 
sick. Nurse said I was goin' to be a cherub, 
too — then she went to put a nuzzar mustard 
plaster on. I didn't want her to, and she 
called me somefing else. I guess that was 
'cause I frew the mustard plaster in her 
face. 

I don't want to be a cherub, anyway; I 
ruther be little Tommie a while yet. But 
I won't 'moke any more. I guess mamma 
was right. Maybe I'm sumfin' like a win- 
dow curtain. 'Mokin' isn't good for me. 

A LITTLE BOY'S WONDER. 

For a Bright Little Fellow of Five Years — in 
Frock. 

Iwondkr, oh ! I wonder what makes ve 
sun go wound ; 
I wonder what can make ve fowers turn 

popin' from ve gwound. 
I wonder if my mamma loves Billy morn'n 

me ; 
I wonder if I'd beat a bear a-climbin' up a 

tree ; 
I wonder how ve angels 'member every- 
body's pwayers, 
I wonder if I didn't leave my sandwich on 

ve stairs, 
I wonder what my teacher meant about ' ' a 

twuthful heart ' ' : 
I guess 'tis finkin' untul Jack will surely 

bring my cart. 
I wonder what I'd do if I should hear a 

lion woar ; 
I bet I'd knock 'im on vehead, and lay him 

on ve floor. 
I wonder if our Farver knew how awful I 

did feel 
When Tom's pie was in my pottet, and I 

wead, " You shall not steal." 
I wonder if, when boys get big, it's dreadful 

in ve dark ; 
I wonder what my doggie thinks when he 

begins to bark. 



292 



LITTLE FOLKS ' SPEAKER 



I wonder what vat birdie says who hollers 

so and sings ; 
I wonder, oh ! I wonder lots and lots of 

over fings. 



CHRISTMAS HAS COME. 

Suitabel /or Sunday school or other Christmas entertainment 
•where a tree is a feature of the occasion. Should be recited just 
before presents are distributed, by a bright little girl of 6 or 7 
years. 

Christmas day has come at last, 
And I am glad 'tis here ; 
For, don't yon think, for this one day, 
I've waited just a year. 
I'm sure it should have come before, 

As sure as I'm alive ; 
Fifty- two Sundays make a year, 
And I've counted seventy-five. 
There's one thing makes me very glad, 

As glad as I can be ; 
The years grow short as we grow old, 

And that will just suit me. 
I wish 'twas Christmas every month — 

That's long enough to wait — 
For all the presents that I want, 

A year is very late. 
We'd have a tree, then, every month, 

And presents nice and new : 
(A voice in the audience says, " Where would 

the money co?nefrom f") 
Do Christmas trees cost anything ? 
(A voice, " I guess they do /) 
Then one a year will do. 
And now I'll take my seat, dear friends, 

And wait to hear my call ; 
For I've a present on the tree, 
And I hope it is a doll. 



LITTLE KITTY. 



For a little girl of 6 or 7 years. To be recited in a happy child- 
manner. 



o 



nce there was a little kitty, 
Whiter than snow ; 
In the barn she used to frolic, 
Long time ago. 



In the barn a little mousie 

Ran to and fro ; 
For she heard the kitty coming. 

Long time ago. 

Two black eyes had little kitty, 
Black as a sloe ; 



And they spied the little mousie, 
Long time ago. 

Nine pearl teeth had little kittie, 

All in a row ; 
And they bit the little mousie, 

Long time ago. 

When the teeth bit little mousie, 
Little mousie cried " Oh ! " 

But she got away from kitty, 
Long time ago. 

Kitty White so shyly comes . 

To catch the mousie Gray ; 
But mousie hears her softly step, 

And quickly runs away. 



AMONG THE ANNIMALS. 

The boy who recites this speech should be a jolly looking 
fellow, who can smile as he speaks, and will talk righrt out and 
pronounce his words very distinctly. 

One rainy morning, just for a lark, 
I jumped and stamped on my new 
Noah's ark : 
I crushed an elephant, smashed a gnu, 
And snapped a camel clean in two ; 

I finished the wolf without half tryin', 
The wild hyena and roaring lion ; 
I knocked down Ham, and Japheth, too, 
And cracked the legs of the kangaroo. 

I finished, besides, two pigs and a donkey, 
A polar bear, opossum and monkey ; 
Also the lions, tigers and cats, 
And dromedaries and tiny rats. 

There wasn't a thing that didn't feel, 
Sooner or later, the weight o' my heel ; 
I felt as grand, as grand could be, 
But oh, the whipping my mammy gave me ! 



MARY AND THE SWALLOW. 

. A Dialogue for two Little Girls. 

Mary is on the stage, but the girl impersonating the swallow 
should be. out of sight of the audience. An imitative twittering 
may be heard before the dialogue commences. 

The lilacs are in blossom, the 

cherry flowers are white ; 
I hear a sound above me, a twitter 
of delight ; 
It is my friend the swallow, as sure as 
I'm alive ! 



M 



LITTLE FOLKS ' SPEAKER 



293 



I'm very glad to see you ! Pray, when 

did you arrive ? 
S. I'm very glad to get here ; I only came 

to-day : 
I was this very morning a hundred 

miles away. 
M. It was a weary journey ; how tired you 

must be ! 
S. Oh no ! I'm used to traveling, and it 

agrees with me. 
M. You left us last September, and pray 

where did you go ? 
S. I went South for the winter, I always 

do, you know. 
M. The South ? How do you like it ! 
S. I like its sunny skies ; 

And round the orange-blossoms I 

caught the nicest flies. 
But when the spring had opened, I 

wanted to come back. 
M. You're still the same old swallow ! 

Your wings are just as black. 
S. I always wear dark colors ; I,m ever 

on the wing ; 
A sober suit for traveling I think the 

proper thing. 
M. Your little last year's nestlings, do tell 

me how they grow. 
►S. My nestlings are great swallows, and 

mated long ago. 
M. And shall you build this summer among 

the flowers and leaves ? 
►S. No. I have taken lodgings beneath 

the stable eaves. 
You'll hear each night and morning my 

twitter in the sky. 
M. That sound is always welcome. And 

now good-bye ! 
vS. Good-bye. 

Marian Douglas. 



THEY SAY. 



THE subject of my speech is one 
We hear of every day — 
'Tis simply all about the fear 
We have of what " they say." 

How happy all of us could be, 

If, as we go our way, 
We did not stop to think and care 

So much for what " they say." 



We never dress to go outside, 

To church, to ball, or play, 
But everything we wear or do 

Is ruled by what " they say." 

Half of the struggles we each make 

To keep up a display, 
Might be avoided, were it not 

For dread of what " they say." 

The half of those who leave their homes 
For Long Branch and Cape may 

Would never go, if it were not 
For fear of what " they say." 

One reason why I'm now so scared 

(Pardon the weakness, pray !) 
Is that I'm thinking all the while, 
" Ot me what will ' they say.' " 

But so 'twill be, I judge, as long 
As on the earth folks stay — 

There'll always be, with wise and fools, 
That dread of what " they say." 



TIME ENOUGH. 

Appropriate for Thanksgiving or Harvest 
Entertainment. 

Two little squirrels, out in the sun — 
One gathered nuts, the other had 
none ; 
" Time enough yet," his constant refrain, 
" Summer is still just on the wane." 

Listen, my child, while I tell you his fate ; 
He roused him at last, but he roused him 

too late. 
Down fell the snow from a pitiless cloud, 
And gave little squirrel a spotless white 

shroud. 

Two little boys in a school-room were 

placed ; 
One always perfect, the other disgraced ; 
" Time enough yet for learning," he said, 
" I will climb, by and by, from the foot to 

the head." 

Listen, my friends ; their locks are turned 

gray ; 
One, as a governor, sitteth to-day ; 
The other, a pauper, looks out at the 

door 



294 



LITTLE FOLKS ' SPEAKER 



Of the almshouse, and idles his days as of 
yore. 

Two kinds of people we meet every day ; 
One is at work, the other at play, 
Living uncared for, dying unknown, 
The busiest hive hath ever a drone. 



THE BLUE AND THE GRAY. 

Decoration Day Entertainment. 

They sat together, side by side, 
In the shade of an orange tree ; 
One had followed the flag of Grant, 
The other had fought with Lee. 

The boy in blue had an empty sleeve. 

A crutch had the boy in gray ; 
They talked of the long and weary march, 

They talked of the bloody fray. 

" My chief is dead," the Johnny said, 

' ' A leader brave was he ; 
And sheathed fore'er at Lexington, 

Doth hang the sword of Lee." 

" My leader dead," — the boy in blue 

Spoke low and with a sigh — 
' ' And all the country mourning lay 

The day that Grant did die." 

' ' God bless both our Lee and Grant ! ' ' 

The vet 'ran said, and then 
In heartfelt tones the answer came, 

From the Southern heart — " Amen." 



A LITTLE BOY'S LECTURE. 

The Boy Should Speak in a Loud, Oratorical 
Style and Look Very Dignified. 

Ladies and gentlemen : Nearly four 
hundred years ago the mighty mind 
of Columbus, traversing unknown 
seas, clasped this new continent in its 
embrace. 

A few centuries later arose one here who 
now lives in all our hearts as the Father of 
his Country. An able warrior, a sagacious 
statesman, a noble gentleman. Yes, Chris- 
topher Columbus was great. George Wash- 
ington was great. But here, my friends, in 
this glorious twentieth century is — a grater ! 

(At this point the boy should pause, and without cracking a 
smile, take from his pocket a large, bright tin grater, and hold it 
for a few seconds in full view. The large kind used for horse- 
radish could be most easily distinguished by the audience.) 



DIALOGUE FOR TWO BOYS. 

Jack Frost and Tom Ruddy. 

A large boy, dressed in white, looking very cold, may repre- 
sent Jack Frost. A small boy, with ruddy cheeks, warm clothes 
and gloves, and a pair of skates slung over his arms, should rep- 
resent Tom Ruddy. 

Jack Frost : 

Who are you, little boy, on your way to 
the meadow, 

This cold winter day with your skates and 
your sled — O ? 

Tom Ruddy : 

My name is Tom Ruddy ; and though it is 

snowing, 
To the meadow, to skate and to coast, lam 

going. 

Jack Frost : 

You had better turn back now, my little 

friend Tommy, 
For the ground it is stiff, and the day it is 

stormy. 

Tom Ruddy : 

No, sir, if you please ; I do love this cold 

weather, 
And my coat is of wool, and my shoes are 

of leather. 

Jack Frost: 

To nip you and pinch you and chill you I'll 

study, 
Unless you turn back and run home, Thomas 

Ruddy. 

Tom Ruddy : 

And who may you be sir, to talk to me thus, 

sir? 
And what have I done, you should make 

such a fuss, sir. 

Jack Frost: 

My name and my calling I will not dissem- 
ble : 

Jack Frost is my name, Tom ! so hear that 
and tremble ! 

Tom Ruddy : 

Oh, you are that Frost, then, whose touch 
is so bitter ; 



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STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL 

Now Jimmie, if I tells you, will you never tell a soul' 
(Suggestion for Tableau) 



LITTLE FOLKS ' SPEAKER 



297 



Who makes all our window-panes sparkle 
and glitter ! 

Jack Fross : 

Yes, I am Jack Frost, and now, Tom, I'm 
coming 

To chill you all over, your fingertips numb- 
ing. 

Tom Ruddy: 

My fingers lie snug in my gay little mit- 
tens, 

And the fur on my cap is as warm as a kit- 
ten's. 

Jack Frost: 

I will breathe on your ears till they tingle ; 

so fear me, 
And scamper; Tom, scamper! Boo-hoo ! 

Do you hear me ? 

Tom Ruddy: 
I hear you, I know you, and if you can 

match me 
In sliding and coating, come catch me, 

Jack, catch me ! {Runs.) 

Jack Frost: 

Stop ! stop ! He is gone, all my terrors de- 
fying ; 

To scare boys like Tom I had better stop 
trying 

A SCHOOL GIRL'S PRESENTATION 
SPEECH. 

DEAR TEACHER : — I have been requested 
by the girls of this school (or institu- 
tion) to offer you a slight token ot 
our affection and regard. I cannot tell you 
how delighted I am to be the means of con- 
veying to you the expression of our united 
love. What we offer you is a poor symbol 
of our feelings, but we know you will 
receive it kindly, as a simple indication of 
the attachment which each one of us 
cherishes for you in her heart of hearts. 
You have made our lessons pleasant to 
us — so pleasant that it would be ungrateful 
to call them tasks. We know that we have 
often tried your temper and forbearance, 
but you have dealt gently with us in our 
waywardness, teaching us, by example as 



well as precept, the advantages of kindness 
and self-control. We will never forget you 
We shall look back to this school (or in- 
stitution) in after life, not as a place of 
penance, but as a scene of mental enjoy- 
ment, where the paths of learning were 
strewn with flowers ; and whenever memory 
recalls our school-days, our hearts will 
warm toward you as they do to-day. I 
have been requested by my school-mates 
not to address you formally, but as a be- 
loved and respected friend. In that light, 
dear teacher, we all regard you. Please 
accept, with our little present, our earnest 
good wishes. May you always be as happy 
as you have endeavored to make your 
pupils, and may they — nothing better could 
be wished for them — be always as faithful 
to their duties to others as you have been 
in your duties to them. 



CHILDREN'S DAY. 

Suitable salutatory at a Sunday school or missionary occa- 
sion in which the children are the entertainers. 

ear friends and teachers, kind and true, 
You're welcome — one and all ; 
We think it very kind that you 
Have heard the children's call. 



D 



Some little songs we have to sing, 

Some little words to say — 
We pray you listen patiently, 

For this is Children's Day. 

Great things have we to tell to you, 

Of children far away, 
Who have no parents, good like ours— 

No happy homes have they. 

They never heard of God's dear Son, 

Who left His home above, 
And suffered on the cruel cross, 

That all might know His love. 

We want to bear the news to them, 
But we are weak and small ; 

Unless encouragement we have 
Naught can we do at all. 

And so, dear friends, we welcome you, 
Your presence, courage brings ; 

We hope to prove, before you leave, 
The strength in little things. 



298 



LITTLE FOLKS ' SPEAKER 



WORDS ON WELCOHE. 

An Opening Address for School or Sunday School 
Entertainment. 

Kind friends and dear parents, we wel- 
come you here 
To our nice pleasant school-room, and 
teacher so dear ; 
We wish but to show how much we have 

learned, 
And* how to our lessons our hearts have 
been turned. 



But hope you'll remember we all are quite 

young, 
And when we have spoken, recited and 

sung, 
You will pardon our blunders, which, as all 

are aware, 
May even extend to the President's chair. 

Our life is a school-time, and till that shall 

end, 
With our Father in heaven for teacher and 

friend, 
Oh, let us perform well each task that is 

given, 
Till our time of probation is ended in 

heaven. 



I 



THE FIRST PAIR OF BREECHES. 

For a Bright Little Boy of 5 Years. 

've got a pair of breeches now, 

And I'll have to be a man ; 
I know I can if just I try, 
My mamma says I can ! 



I'm going to school now very soon, 

And learn my A, B, C ; 
My mamma says I'm too young yet, 

But I am 'way past three. 

And I've got pockets in my pants, 

To put my pencil in ; 
For mamma says that I must write 

In school when I begin. 

I'll soon be tall as papa — now 
I'll grow as fast as I can, 

And don't you think that very soon 
I'll be a full-grown man ? 



WHEN MAMHA WAS A LITTLE GIRL. 

For a Girl of '7 or 8 Years with a Saucy Air. 

When mamma was a little girl 
(Or so they say to me) 
She never used to romp and run, 
Nor shout and scream with noisy fun, 

Nor climb an apple tree. 
She always kept her hair in curl, — 
When mamma was a little girl. 

When mamma was a little girl 

(It seems to her, you see) 
She never used to tumble down, 
Nor break her doll, nor tear her gown, 

Nor drink her papa's tea. 
She learned to knit, " plain," " seam," and 

" purl," — 
When mamma was a little girl. 

But grandma says — it must be true — 

" How fast the seasons o'er us whirl ! 
Your mamma, dear, was just like you, 
When she was grandma's little girl." 



THE WATERMILLION. 

THERE were a watermillion 
Growing on a vine, 
And there were a pickaninny 
A-watching it all the time. 

And when that watermillion 
Were a-ripening in the sun, 

And the stripes along its jacket 
Were coming one by one, 

That pickaninny hooked it, 

And toting it away, 
He ate that entire million 

Within a single day. 

He ate the rind and pieces 
And finished it with vim, 

And then that watermillion 
Just up and finished him. 



AN OPENING ADDRESS. 

Speak in a Half- Embarrassed and Conversa- 
tional Tone. 
I am a very little boy (or girl), and I sup- 
pose that is why the teacher puts me 
first to-day. But I am big enough to 
tell you that we are very glad to see you. 



LITTLE FOLKS > SPEAKER 



299 



I hope you will like this school very 
much. We will sing our best songs, and 
say our prettiest verses, and be just as good 
as we can all the time you stay, for we want 
you to come again. 

{Straighten up with dignity and speak loud 
and strong.) 

And now I'll say my speech. This is it: 

Kind friends, we welcome you to-day 

With songs of merry glee ; 
Your loving smiles we strive to win, 

Each face we love to see. 

Sweet welcomes then to one and all, 
And may your smiles approve ; 

And may we never miss the light 
Of faces that we love. 



And now, friends all, with thanks for the 
past, and good wishes for the future, it is 
mine to say good bye. 



CLOSING ADDRESS. 

Kind friends who have listened to our 
efforts to-day, I thank you in the 
name of the whole school for your 
presence and your attention. We hope we 
have not disappointed you. With many of 
us it has been our first attempt at public 
speaking. Long ago, a boy declaimed — 
before much such an audience, I dare say, 
as this — who said : ' ' Tall oaks from little 
acorns grow ; " and it is just as true to-day 
as then. We are fitting ourselves, little by 
little, to fill the places of the men and 
women of to-day. Years hence, you may 
hear from us mingling with the great world, 
helping forward, in one way and another, 
life's good work. 

Teacher, we thank you for all your kind 
endeavors to do us good. May your good 
wishes for us be all fulfilled in years to 
come. 

Schoolmates, we part companionship to- 
day to go to our several homes, our various 
amusements, and our separate work. We 
part friends, and carry with us pleasant 
memories of the happy faces here. May 
onr future lives be as useful as our term has 
been pleasant. And may the world, the 
great school in which we are all scholars, 
~ find us faithful in all the good lessons we 
have to learn ; — in short, may we make our 
lives a grand success, and be admitted to a 
higher school in the life to come. 



AN ADDRESS TO A TEACHER. 

Choose a manly boy who will look the teacher in the eye and 
speak distinctly. 

Dear Teacher : The pleasant duty has 
been assigned me by my schoolmates 
of presenting you this token as an 
evidence of our lasting esteem, friendship, 
and love. We could not consent to part 
with you without leaving in your hands 
some memorial, however trifling, of deep 
and abiding gratitude for your unceasing 
efforts to benefit us. When in future days 
you look upon this memento, let it be a 
pleasant token of the deepest love and 
reverence of our young hearts. 



VALEDICTORY. 

IT now, kind friends, devolves on me 
To speak our Val-e-dic-to-ry ; 
You've seen our exhibition through, 
We've tried to please each one of you — 
And if we've failed in any part, 
Lay it to head and not to heart ; 

We thank you for your presence here, 

With kindly smiles our work to cheer, 

Our youthful zeal you do inspire 

To set our mark a little hfger — 

But there's much more than words can 

tell- 
So thanking you we'll say— -farewell. 



THE BEST OF MENAGERIES. 

My pa's the best menagerie 
That ever any one did see ; 
I need no pets when he is by 
To make the days and hours fly, 
For any bird or beast or fish 
I want, he'll be whene'er I wish. 

For instance, if I chance to want 
A safe and gentle elephant, 
He'll fasten on his own big nose 
One of my long black woolen hose, 
And on his hands and bended knees 
Is elephantine as you please, 



300 



LITTLE FOLKS ' SPEAKER 



And truly seems to like the sport 
Of eating peanuts by the quart. 

Then, when I want the lion's roar, 
He'll go behind my bedroom door, 
And growl until I sometimes fear 
The king of beasts is really near ; 
But when he finds my courage dim 
He peeps out, and I know it's him. 

And he can ' ' meow " just like a cat — 

No Tom can beat my pa at that — 

And when he yowls, and dabs, and spits, 

It sends us all off into fits, 

So like it seems that every mouse 

Packs up his things and leaves the house. 

Then, when he barks, the passers-by 
Look all about with fearsome eye, 
And hurry off with scurrying feet 
To walk upon some other street, 
Because they think some dog is there, 
To rush out at 'em from his lair. 

And, oh, 'twould make you children laugh 

When papa plays the big giraffe. 

He'll take his collar off, you know, 

And stretch his neck an inch or so, 

And look down on you from above, 

His eyes so soft and full of love, 

That, as you watched them, you would 

think 
From a giraffe he'd learned to blink. 

'Tis as a dolphin, though, that he 
Is strongest, as it seems to me, 
And I don't know much finer fun 
Than sitting in the noonday sun 
Upon the beach and watching pop, 
As in the ocean he goes flop, 
And makes us children think that he's 
A porpoise from across the seas. 
And when he takes a tin tube out, 
And blows up water through the spout, 
The stupidest can hardly fail 
To think they see a great big whale ! 

And that is why I say to you 
My Pa's a perfect dandy zoo, 
The very best menagerie 
That ever you or I did see. 
And what is finest let me say, 
There never is a cent to pay ! 

G. V. Drakk. 



VACATION TIME. 

Droll Speech for a Boy of 10 Years at Closing 
Exercises of School. 

Vacation time at last is here, 
The j oiliest time in all the year ; 
Away with books, pencil and pens, 
Now is the time to visit our friends. 
We always to the country go — 
Me and my youngest brother Joe — 
We jump the fences, climb the trees, 
Run through the medders chasin' bees ; 
Bat peaches and apples, plums and grapes, 
And get in an orful lot of scrapes ! 
But then it's vacation time, you know, 
I don't think folks ought to mind things so. 

One day last summer Joe and me 

Went down to the medder the bull to see. 

We couldn't git a very good look at him. 

So we let down the bars and walked right in. 

Oh, you oughter seen his shiny eyes — 

Joe said " he's takin in our size ! " 

And he frightened us so, — Oh, good stars ! 

We clean forgot to put up the bars. 

And that mean old bull, as shore's you're 

born, 
Walked right through them bars into grand- 
pa's corn, 
And Joe and me didn't know what to do, 
As ear after ear we seen him chew. 
Grandpa made an awful fuss, 
And 'lowed it happened all through us ; 
But then 'twas vacation time, you know, 
I don't think he ought to minded it so. 

I tell you my grandma knows how to 

bake — 
You never tasted such pies and cake. 
One day we wuz hungry and wanted a bite, 
But grandma she wuz nowhere in sight, 
So we thought we'd just help ourself. 
The things were on a high up shelf, 
So we got a chair and had to tip-toe ; 
And that clumsy feller — my brother Joe — 
I just give him a little bit of a tilt, 
An' he set down flat in a pan of milk. 
Grandma had an orful time makin' his 

clothes clean, 
And said we spoiled every bit of her cream — 
But then, 'twas vacation time, you know, 
I don't think grandma got mad at Joe. 



LITTLE FOLKS ' SPEAKER 



301 



Grandma's dog Rover's a nice old chap, 
But he likes to take his afternoon nap. 
Joe and me spied him asleep one da}^ 
And thought we'd make him git up and 

play, 
So we slipped in the milk house and got a 

tin pail, 
And tied it fast to old Rover's tail, 
And then we skeered him, and he runn'd 

like sin, 
And he rattled and banged and spoiled the tin . 
Grandma came out, and all the rest, 
And she said, " You boysmustbepersessed!" 
And, if we didn't leave the animals and 

things alone, 
She'd pack our clothes and send us home. 
But then at vacation time, you know — 
I don't think folks ought to mind things so. 
Mary B. Rheinfeldt. 



THE BLUEBELL'S REWARD. 

Two little bluebells, growing side by 
side, 
Talked to a sunbeam, out for a ride ; 
One thought the sunbeam rude in his way, 
While the other one listened, but little to 
say. 

The floweret complained that the sunbeam 

did wrong 
In making his calls so exceptionally long, 
Declared : ' If he dared stay as long next 

day, 
She would close up her house, and go far, 

far away.' 

The dear little floweret which silently stood, 
And quietly fastened her quaint dainty hood, 
Was wooed by the sunbeam and changed 

to a flower 
Of exquisite beauty high up on a bower. 

So children beware of the bluebell's com- 
plaint, - 

And let your retorts to your elders be faint ; 

Thus gain by your silence the bower so 
bright, 

And thank the dear Father who leads you 
aright. 

He'll bid every cloud from your sky to de- 
part 
And smiles in good pleasure at each kind, 
patient heart ; 

18 



Thro' sunshine and showers be brave and 

be strong, 
Remembering ever, right conquers all 

wrong. 

Anna T. Hackman. 



THE BOY WHO DID NOT PASS. 

This selection may be made more attractive by introducing 
an elder'y gentleman to represent the boy's father. Let the 
father recite the first stanza, and John, a manly boy, reply with 
the remainder. At the close, the father, clasping John's hand, 
says : " I believe you will, my boy," and they leave the stage 
arm-in-arm. 

uQo, John, I hear you did not pass ; 
O You were the lowest in your class — 

Got not a prize of merit. 
But grumbling now is no avail ; 
Just tell me how you came to fail, 
With all your sense and spirit ? ' ' 

" Well, sir, I missed 'mong other things, 
The list of Egypt's shepherd kings 

(I wonder who does know it). 
An error of three years I made 
In dating England's first crusade ; 
And, as I am no poet, 

' ' I got Euripides all wrong, 

And could not write a Latin song ; 

And as for Roman history, 
With Hun and Vandal, Goth and Gaul, 
And Gibbon's weary ' Rise and Fall,' 

'Twas all a hopeless mystery. 

" But, father, do not fear or sigh 
If Cram' does proudly pass me by, 

And pedagogues ignore me ; 
I've common sense, I've will and health, 
I'll win my way to honest wealth ; 

The world is all before me. 

" And though I'll never be a Grecian, 
Know Roman laws or art Phoenician, 

Or sing of love and beauty, 
I'll plow, or build, or sail, or trade, 
And you need never be afraid 

But that I'll do my duty." 



THE QUEER LITTLE HOUSE. 



Suitable for a bright little girl to recite, 
proper modulation and expression of face 



She should be taught 



THERE'S a queer little house, 
And it stands in the sun . 
When the good mother calls. 



LITTLE FOLKS ' SPEAKER 



The children all run. 
While under her roof, 

They are cozy and warm, 
Though the cold wind may whistle 

And bluster and storm. 

In the daytime, this queer 

Little house moves away, 
And the children run after it, 

Happy and gay ; 
But it comes back at night, 

And the children are fed, 
And tucked up to sleep 

In a soft feather-bed. 

This queer little house 

Has no windows nor doors — 
The roof has no shingles, 

The rooms have no floors — 
No fire-place, chimney, 

Nor stove can you see, 
Yet the children are cozy 

And warm as can be. 

The story of this 

Funny house is all true, 
I have seen it myself, 

And I think you have, too, 
You can see it to-day, 

If you watch the old hen, 
When her downy wings cover 

Her chickens again. 



A BOY'S LECTURE ON "KNIVES." 

This lecture will be most effective, delivered in a boy's 
natural style. Try to imitate the boy's actions. The real art of 
rendering this selection is in being artlessly natural. 

Ladies and Gentlemen : My subject 
is knives. There are two kinds of 
knives. I will mention them — 
eating-knives and jack-knives. You 
must not put eating-knives in your 
mouth, you can a jack-knife, because then 
you do not have any fork — I mean when 
you are eating raw sweet potatoes or raw 
turnips, or any raw things out of doors. 
You can do nineteen things with a jack- 
knife. I will mention them — whittle, 
sharpen pencils, clip off finger-nails and 
thumb ones, play mum'1-ti-peg, cut knots, 
punch holes, shock out clams and oysters, 
clean fishes, cut your name on anything, 
eat apples and pumpkin pi' — seeds and 
other things, make whistles, whet it on a 



whet-stone, cut your fingers with it, break 
it, swap it, lose it, find it, give it away. 
Every fellow that borrows a jack-knife 
ought to give it right back again. I don't 
mean before he is done with it. 

A jack-knife is made of two parts. I 
will mention them — the handle and the 
blade. You can have a knife with six 
blades, if anybody will give you one. Your 
father and mother hardly ever give you a 
six-blader. They do not think it is best. 
Some little fellows have numb jack-knives. 
Numb jack-knives are made not to cut ; 
my little brother has a numb jack-knife. 
Jack-knives are very easy to lose. A fellow 
almost always loses his knife. He feels 
very sorry when he first finds out he cannot 
find his knife. He does not believe that 
knife is lost. He keeps feeling in his 
pocket, for he believes it is there some- 
where under his ball or his jews-harp, or 
his pocket-handkerchief, or amongst the 
crumbles. Then he begins and empties out 
all these things, and turns his pocket inside 
out, and shakes it, and stands up, and 
shakes his trousers- leg, and looks down on 
the floor, and puts them all in again, and 
then he begins to hunt. 

One day I lost my knife, and I hunted 
for it in ninety-seven different places. I 
will mention them — in my mother's work- 
basket, in her other work-basket, in her 
darn-stocking bag, in eight of her bureau 
drawers, in six cracks of the floor, up gar- 
ret, in the ash-pail, all over eight floors 
crawling, in the cookie-pot, in my mother's 
pocket, in the baby's cradle, in the apple- 
barrel, on four top shelves, on seventeen 
other shelves, in the spoon-holder, in ten of 
my father's pockets, in fourteen of my big 
brother's pockets, in four of my pockets, 
on six mantelpieces, in the waste-basket, in 
my sister's doll-house, in her bureau drawer, 
in the bed-clothes chest, in my mother's 
trunk, in four of my sister's pockets, and 
all the time my knife was in my trousers-leg, 
inside of the outside part of the trousers- 
leg, back of the lining of it. 

Ladies and gentlemen : Many thanks for 
your kind attention. My next lecture will 
be on " Swapping." 

Mrs. Abby Morton Dias, 

in Wide Awake. 



LITTLE FOLKS ' SPEAKER 



303 



GEORGE WASHINGTON. 

For Washington's birthday entertainment. Select five small 
boys. Let each boy hold a card with date in view of audience 
during his recitation. 

1732. — Tn seventeen hundred thirty-two 
JL George Washington was born ; 
Truth, goodness, skill, and glory 
high, 
His whole life did adorn. 

1775. — In seventeen hundred seventy-five, 
The chief command he took 
Of all the army in the State, 
And ne'er his flag forsook. 

1783. — In seventeen hundred eighty-three, 
Retired to private life, 
He saw his much-loved country 
free 
From battle and from strife. 

1789. — In seventeen hundred eighty -nine 
The country with one voice, 
Proclaimed him President to 
shine, 
Blessed by the peoples choice. 

1799. — In seventeen hundred ninety-nine 

The Nation's thears were shed, 
To see the Patriot life resign, 
Anc 1 sleep among the dead. 

All. — As ' ' first in war, and first in peace, ' ' 
As patriot, father, friend, 
He will be blessed till time shall 
cease, 
And earthly life shall end. 



"W 



BOYS WANTED. 

anted, a boy." How often we 



These very common words may 
see, 
Wanted — a boy to errands run, 
Wanted for everything under the sun. 
All that the men to-day can do 
To-morrow the boys will be doing too, 
For the time is ever coming when 
The boys must stand in place of men. 

Wanted — the world wants boys to-day, 
And she offers them all she has for pay. 
Honor, wealth, position, fame, 
A useful life and a deathless name. 



Boys to shape the paths for men, 
Boys to guide the plow and pen, 
Boys to forward the tasks begun. 

The world is axious to employ 

Not Just one, but every boy 

Whose heart and brain will e'er be true 

To work his hands shall find to do, 

Honest, faithful, earnest, kind ; 

To good awake, to evil blind ; 

Heart of gold without alloy. 

Wanted : The world wants such a boy. 



WHAT A BOY CAN DO. 

THESE are some of the things that a boy 
can do : 
He can whistle so loud the air turns 
blue ; 
He can make all the sounds of beast and 

bird, 
And a thousand noises never heard. 

He can crow or cackle, or he can cluck 

As well as a rooster, hen, or duck ; 

He can bark like a dog, he can low like a 

cow, 
And a cat itself can't beat his " me-ow." 

He has sounds that are ruffled, striped and 

plain ; 
He can thunder by as a railway train, 
Stop at the stations a breath, and then 
Apply the steam and be off again. 

He has all his powers in such command 
He can turn right into a full brass band, 
With all of the instruments ever played, 
As he makes of himself a street parade. 

You can tell that a boy is very ill 

If he's wide awake and keeping still. 

But earth would be — God bless their 

noise ! — 
A dull old place if there were no boys» 



BABY'S LOGIC. 

Catchy Encore Selection. 

She was ironing her dolly's new gown 
Maid Marian, four years old, 
With her brow 7 s puckered down 
In a painstaking frown 
Under her tresses of gold. 



;o4 



LITTLE FOLKS ' SPEAKER 



'Twas Sunday, and nurse coming in 
Exclaimed in a tone of surprise : 

" Don't you know it's a sin 
Any work to begin 

On the day that the Lord sanctifies ? ' ' 

Then, lifting her face like a rose, 
Thus answered this wise little tot : 

" Now, don't you suppose 
The good Lord he knows 

This little iron ain't hot ? " 

Elizabeth W. Bellamy. 



A SCHOOL IDYL. 

RAM it in, cram it in ; 
Children's heads are hollow, 
Slam it in, jam it in ; 
Still there's more to follow — 
Hygiene and history, 
Astronomic mystery, 
Algebra, histology, 
Latin, etymology, 
Botany, geometry, 
Greek and trigonometry. 
Ram it in, cram it in ; 

Children's heads are hollow. 

Rap it in, tap it in ; 

What are teachers paid for ? 
Bang it in, slam it in : 

What are children made for ; 
Ancient archaeology, 
Aryan philology, 
Prosody, zoology, 
Physics, clinictology 
Calculus and mathematics, 
Rhetoric and hydrostatics 
Hoax it in, coax it in ; 

Children's head's are hollow* 

Scold it in, mould it in ; 

All that they can swallow. 
Fold it in, mould it in ; 

Still there's more to follow. 
Faces pinched, and sad, and pale, 
Tell the same undying tale — 
Tell of moments robbed from sleep, 
Meals un tasted, studies deep. 
Those who've passed the furnace 

through, 
With aching brow, will tell to you 
How the teacher crammed it in, 
Rammed it in, jammed it in, 



Crunched it in, punched it in, 
Rubbed it in, clubbed it in, 
Pressed it in, caressed it in, 
Rapped it in and slapped it in — 
When their heads were hollow. 
"Rehoboth Sunday Herald. 



A FOURTH OF JULY RECORD, 

Suitable to Fourth of July Entertainment. 

T was a wide-awake little boy 

Who rose with the break of day ; 

2 were the minutes he took to dress, 
Then he was off and away. 

3 were his leaps when he cleared the stairs, 
Although they were steep and high ; 

4 was the number which caused his haste, 
Because it was Fourth of July ! 

5 were his pennies which went to buy 
A package of crackers red ; 

6 were the matches which touched them off 
And then — he was back in bed. 

7 big plasters he had to wear 
To cure his fractures sore ; 

8 were the visits the doctor made, 
Before he was whole once more. 

9 were the dolorous days he spent 
In sorrow and pain ; but then 

io are seconds he'll stop to think 
Before he does it again. 

Lilian Dynevor Rice. 



DAYS OF THE WEEK. 

For Seven Little Boys and Girls. Teacher or 
some Large Boy or Girl Should Speak. 

The days of the week once talking to- 
gether 
About their housekeeping, their 
friends and the weather, 
Agreed in their talk it would be a nice 

thing 
For all to march, and dance, and sing ; 
So they all stood up in a very straight row, 
And this is the way they decided to go : 



LITTLE FOLKS' SPEAKER 



305 



{Let seven children stand up, and as day of 
week is called, take places, each one equipped 
with the things the speaker mentions?) 
First came little Sunday, so sweet and good, 
With a book in her hand, at the head she 

stood. 
Monday skipped in with soap and a tub, 
Scrubbing away with a rub-a-dub -dub, 
With board and iron came Tuesday bright, 
Talking to Monday in great delight. 
Then Wednesday — the dear little cook — 

came in, 
Riding cock horse on his rolling-pin. 
Thursday followed, with broom and brush, 
Her hair in a towel, and she in a rush. 
Friday appeared, gayly tripping along ; 
He scoured the knives, and then he was gone. 
Saturday last, with a great big tub, - 
Into which we all jump for a very good rub. 
{The children march and sing to the tune of 
" Good Morning, Merry Sunshine. ") 

Children of the week are we, 

Happy, busy, full of glee. 

Often do we come this way, 

And you meet us every day. 

Hand in hand we trip along, 

Singing as we go, a song. 

Each one may a duty bring, 

Though it be a little thing. 
{All bow, and taking up the articles retire 
fro77i the stage in order, Sunday, Monday, etc. 
Mary Ely Page. 



IF I WERE YOU. 

IF I were you, and went to school 
I'd never break the smallest rule, 
And it should be my teacher's joy 
To say she had no better boy. 
And 'twould be true, 
If I were you. 

If I were you, I'd always tell 
The truth, no matter what befell ; 
For two things only I despise, 
A coward heart and telling lies ; 

And you would, too, 

If I were you. 



I 



WHAT TO DRINK. 

Think that every mother's son 
^Vnd every father's daughter, 
Should drink at least till twenty-one, 



Just nothing but cold water. 
And after that, they might drink tea, 

But nothing any stronger ; 
If all folks would agree with me, 

They'd live a great deal longer. 



THE BLESSED ONES. 

Sunday School Entertainment. Select nine Chil- 
dren, stand them in line, and one by 
one step forward and speak. 

BLESSED are the poor in spirit : for theirs 
is the kingdom of heaven. 
Blessed are they that mourn : for they 
shall be comforted. 

Blessed are the meek : for they shall inherit 
the earth. 

Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst 
after righteousness : for they shall be 
filled. 

Blessed are the merciful : for they shall ob- 
tain mercy. 

Blessed are the pure in heart : for they shall 
see God. 

Blessed are the peacemakers : for they shall 
be called the children of God. 

Blessed are they that are persecuted for 
righteousness' sake : for theirs is the 
kingdom of heaven. 

Blessed are ye when men shall revile you, 
and persecute you, and shall say all 
manner of evil against you falsely, 
for my sake. 
{All stand in line and repeat together .•) 

Rejoice, and be exceeding glad : for great 
is your reward in heaven ; for so per- 
secuted they the prophets which were 
before you. 

From Matthew, 5. 2-12. 



TWENTY=THIRD PSALH. 

Suited for Church or Sunday school. Arranged for five little 
boys or girls. May be repeated at entertainment or before Sun- 
day school. Speakers should stand in line and recite one after 
the other. 

First Speaker. 

The Iyord is my shepherd ; 
I shall not want. 

Second Speaker. 

He maketh me to lie down in green pas- 
tures ; 
He leadeth me beside the still waters 5 



;o6 



LITTLE FOLKS' SPEAKER 



Third Spkakkr. 

He restoreth my soul ; 

He leadeth me in the path of righteousness 
for His name's sake. 

Fourth Spkakkr. 

Yea, though I walk through the valley of 

the shadow of death, 
I fear no evil ; for Thou art with me ; 
Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me. 

Fifth Spkakkr. 

Thou preparest a table before me in the 

presence of mine enemies ; 
Thou anointest my head with oil ; 
My cup runneth over. 

ALIvTOGKTHKR . 

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow (me) 
us all the days of (my) our (life) 
lives : 

And (I) we will dwell in the house of the 
Lord for ever. 



Let us try to add some pleasures 

To the life of every boy, 
For each child needs tender interest 

In its sorrows and its joys ; 
Call your boys home by your brightness, 

They'll avoid a gloomy den, 
And seek for comfort elsewhere — 

And remember, boys make men. 



REMEMBER, BOYS MAKE MEN. 

Whkn you see a ragged urchin 
Standing wistful in the street, 
With torn hat and kneeless trousers , 
Dirty face and bare red feet ; 
Pass not by the child unheeding, 

Smile upon him. Mark me, when 
He's grown he'll not forget it, 
For, remember, boys make men. 

When the buoyant youthful spirits 

Overflow in boyish freak, 
Chide your child in gentle accents, 

Do not in your anger speak ; 
You must sow in youthful bosoms 

Seeds of tender mercies ; then 
Plants will grow and bear good fruitage, 

When the erring boys are men. 

Have you never seen a grandsire, 

With his eyes aglow with joy, 
Bring to mind some act of kindness 

Something said to him a boy ? 
Or relate some slight or coldness, 

With a brow all clouded, when 
He said they were too thoughtless 

To remember boys make men ? 



TALE OF A DOG AND A BEE. 

GRKAT big dog, 
Head upon his toes ; 
Tiny little bee 

Settles on his nose. 

Great big dog 

Thinks it is a fly, 
Never says a word, 

Winks mighty sly. 

Tiny little bee 

Tickles doggie's nose — 
Thinks like as not 

'Tis a blooming rose. 

Dog smiles a smile, 

Winks his other eye, 
Chuckles to himself 
How he'll catch a fly. 

Then he makes a snap 
Mighty quick and spry, 

Gets the little bug 

But doesn't catch the fly„ 

Tiny little bee, 

Alive and looking well, 
Great big dog, 

Mostly gone to swell. 

Moral : 
Dear friends and brothers all, 

Don't be too fast and free, 
And when you catch a fly, 

Be sure it ain't a bee. 



WHEN FATHER CARVES THE DUCK. 

WK all look on with anxious eyes 
When father carves the duck, 
And mother almost always sighs 
When father carves the duck ; 
Then all of us prepare to rise, 



LITTLE FOLKS ' SPEAKER 



30I 



And hold our bibs before our eyes, 

And be prepared for some surprise, 

When father carves the duck. 

He braces up and grabs a fork 

Whene'er he carves a duck, 
And won't allow a soul to talk, 

Until he's carved the duck. 
The fork is jabbed into the sides, 
Across the breast the knife he slides, 
While every careful person hides 

From flying chips of duck. 

The platter's always sure to slip 

When father carves a duck, 
And how it makes the dishes skip ! 

Potatoes fly amuck ! 
The squash and cabbage leap in space, 
We get some gravy in our face, 
And father mutters Hindoo grace 

Whene'er he carves a duck. 

We then have learned to walk around 

The dining-room and pluck 
From off the window-sills and walls 

Our share of father's duck. 
While father growls and blows and jaws, 
And swears the knife was full of flaws, 
And mother laughs at him because 

He couldn't carve a duck. 

E. V. Wright. 



QUESTIONS ABOUT WOMEN. 

For Sunday School Entertainments, suited to a class of girls. 
The teacher asks questions, and scholars should repeat the verse 
and give the reference in answer to every question. 

WHAT two men were hidden in a well 
by a woman ? 2 Sam. xvii. 18, 19. 
2 . What man asked his servant to 
kill him after he had been mortally wounded 
by a woman ? Judges ix. 53, 54. 

3. What man owed his own life and 
that of his countrymen to a woman ? Esther 
iv. 15, 16. 

4. What king caused a good man to be 
slain because he loved the man's wife? 2 
Sam. xi. 14, 15. 

5. What man made a vow which invol- 
ved the life of his own daughter ? Judges 
xi. 30, 31, 34. 

6. What man once received most hospi- 
table treatment from a woman whom he 
sought, though she knew him not? Gen, 
xxiv. 17-19. 



7. What man was deceived by a woman, 
and then treacherously slain by her ? Judges 
iv. 18, 21. 

8. What man once refused to go to 
battle unless the woman he was addressing 
would conduct it? Judges iv. 8, 9. 

9. What man was saved from death by 
his wife's pretending he was sick? 1 Sam. 
xix. 12-14. 

10. What man was twice betrayed by 
his wife through avowal of love ? Judges 
xiv. 16, 17, and xv. 15-17. 

1 1 . What woman judged Israel ? Judges 
iv. 4, 5. 

12. What woman reigned over Israel 
six years? 2 Chron. xxii. 10, 12. 



AN EASTER BONNET. 

LiTTivK Miss Violet, blooming and sweet, 
Has her new Easter bonnet all trimmed 
and complete ; 
The brim is rich purple with hair-lines of 

black 
It flares at the front and fits close at the 

back, 
There's a bow-knot of yellow and strings of 

pea green — 
A prettier bonnet has never been seen. 

But Miss Violet's careful, and keeps it well 

hid 
In her underground bandbox, and holds fast 

the lid ; 
If Easter is early, and March winds are 

cold, 
You'll not have a glimpse of the purple and 

gold, 
But when Easter comes late, you will see 

the whole place 
Grow bright with Miss Violet's beauty and 

grace. 



I 



THE MISSIONARY HEN. 

Good for Church or Sunday School 
Entertainment. 
know a funny little lad — 

We call him careful Ben — 
Who has among his many pets 
A missionary hen. 



1 A missionary hen ! ' ' you say ; 
" What sort of fowl is that ?" 



3oS 



LITTLE FOLKS ' SPEAKER 



Just listen, and you'll all agree 
That she is called just right. 

Now Benny went to Sunday school, 
And there he heard them tell 

About the children far away 
Who hear no Sabbath bell ; 

Who never heard of Jesus' name 
Nor how He came to earth, 

And gave His life upon the cross 
To save their souls from death. 

He knew they had no pleasant homes, 

No teachers kind and true 
To tell them of a Saviour's love, 

Or what they ought to do. 

Ben's pocketbook was very lean, 
The pennies there were few ; 

But Bennie's mother helped him out — 
She gave him work to do. 



thousand lives and ruins so many homes each year. Why is it 
here on such an occasion as this?" 

Then the boy or girl, with a clear strong voice, speaks from 
behind the scene, so near the shock that it seems as if the voice 
came from the rye itself: " 1 come here, friends, to defend my- 
self. Man has made me his destroyer, when I am really his 
friend." 

I was made to be eaten 
And not to be drank ; 

To be thrashed in a barn, 
Not soaked in a tank. 
I come as a blessing 

When put through a mill, 
As a blight and a curse 
When run through a still. 

Make me up into loaves, 

And the children are fed ; 
But if into drink, 

I'll starve them instead. 
In bread I'm a servant, 

The eater shall rule ; 
In drink I am master, 

The drinker a fool. 



He climbed the mow to hunt the eggs, 
He crawled beneath the barn ; 

And his reward was one old hen 
That he might call his own. 

Dear me ! the way that old hen laid 

Was wonderful to view ! 
She seemed to know her business well, 

And sought to mind it too. 

She was a missionary hen, 

For all her eggs he sold 
For pennies for the mission -box — 

They were as good as gold. 

Ben's pennies now were never scarce 

He did not have to beg ; 
For this old hen was like the goose 

That laid the golden egg. 

She raised a brood of ten fine chicks, 

Ben drafted them all in 
To swell the ranks and revenue, 

Of his missionary hen. 



SONG OF THE RYE. 

At a Temperance or Thanksgiving entertainment, a shock of 

rye may be placed on the stage near a door or curtain, and tho 

teacher or director of ceremonies might walkout and say, "What 

IS this rye, which wc see here, good for? I understand it is the 

" for making whiskev. which destroys so, many 



A ROUGH RIDER AT HOHE. 

MY pa's a great Rough Rider, 
He was one of Teddy's men, 
And he fought before 
El Caney 
In the trenches and the fen. 
He came home sore and wounded, 

And I wish you'd see him eat ; 
He's got an appetite, I guess, 
Is pretty hard to beat : 

It's eat, and eat, and eat, 

And it's sleep, and sleep, and sleep, 
For ma won't let us make no noise, 

And so we creep, and creep. 
O, we bade him welcome home. 

And we're glad, he wasn't killed — 
But gee ! he's got an appetite 

That never will be filled. 

He says he caught the fever, 
And he had the ague, too ; 

And he kind o'got the homesicks, 
And the waitin' made him blue; 

But when he reached the station. 
And we saw him from the gate, 

We were the happiest little kids 

You qquM find in, any state, 



LITTLE FOLKS ' SPEAKER 



309 



M 



HER PAPA. 

y papa's all dressed up to-day ; 
He never looked so fine ; 
I thought when first I looked at 
him. 
My papa wasn't mine. 



He's got a beautiful new suit — 
The old one was so old — 

It's blue, with buttons, oh, so bright 
I guess they must be gold. 

And papa's sort o' glad and sort 

O' sad— I wonder why ; 
And ev'ry time she looks at him 

It makes my mamma cry. 

Who's Uncle Sam ? My papa says 

That he belongs to him ; 
But papa's joking, 'cause he knows 

My uncle's name is Jim. 

My papa just belongs to me 
And mamma. And I guess 

The folks are blind who cannot see 
His buttons marked U. S. 

U. S. spells us. He's ours — and yet 
My mamma can't help cry. 

And papa tries to smile at me 
And can't — I wonder why? 



ARMY DIET. 

My father says 'at sojers is 
The braves' mens 'at ever was ; 
'At when they hears the shots go 
"Whiz!" 
They don't mind it a bit bekuz 
The whiz means 'at you ain't got hit, 
An' so they ist don't keer a bit. 

Pa says 'at sojers knows a lot, 

An' they can walk " ist like one man," 
An' aim so well 'at every shot 

Will hit a sneakin' Spaniard, an' 
He says they have to eat ' ' hard tacks ' ' 
An' carry " raccoons " on their backs. 

But when I ast him why they do 

He ist busts out a-laughin', nen 

He says, " You know a thing or two, 

My son ! " an' laughs an' laughs again, 

An' says, " 'At's ist the very thing-^ 

The sojers eats the tax, i' 'ing J " " 



THE SPANISH WAR ALPHABET 

The following alphabetical arrangement of facts, persons and 
places connected with the Spanish American war may be used as 
a recitation for one, or it may be pleasingly presented by twenty- 
six youngsters each holding the large letter which he represents 
cut out of pasteboard fastened on a staff for carrying. Let each 
speaker step out of line to recite the verse relating to the letter in 
hand. When standing in line the letters should be held plainly in 
view of the audience forming a complete alphabet. 

A is for Admiral, impassionate, cold, 
Who waits for instructions, and does 
as he's told. 
B stands for Brooklyn, commanded by 
' Schley ; 
The hottest of liners he takes on the fly. 
C is for Cuba, a tight little isle ; 

To get which we may have to fight quite 
a while. 
D is — yes, Dewey, a teacher of Spanish ; 
The first lesson caused all his pupils to 
vanish. 
E stands for Evans, who's never so happy 
As when there's a chance to get in some- 
thing " scrappy." 
F is for Freedom, which means a great deal 
When your neck has been under a vile 
Spanish heel. 
G is for Germany, whose rude employees 
Should learn better manners ; be taught 
to say please. 
H stands for Heroes, on land and on sea, 
Who laid down their lives for their 
friends' liberty. 
I's for Insurgents, who holler for aid ; 
Then eat up the rations and loaf in the 
shade. 
J is for Jones, Davy Jones, if you will, 
Whose lockers we've twice had occasion 
to fill. 
K stands for King, the young King of 
Spain, 
Who's been led to regret what happened 
the " Maine " 
Iy is for IyOng, who has great common- 
sense, 
And in whom the people place all con- 
fidence. 
M's for McKinley, we welcome the fact 
That he's handling this matter with very 
great tact. 
N is for Nelson, Nelson A. Miles, 

On whom we depend to o'ercome Spanish 
wiles. 
O's the Oquendo, a powerful cruiser ; 
But on a long pig-hunt they managed to 
Jose her. 



3io 



LITTLE FOLKS' SPEAKER 



P's Porto Rico, the place had some forts, 
But, no doubt, ere this they've been 
knocked out of sorts. 
is for Queen, most unhappy of ladies, 
Who fears, perhaps rightly, our visit to 
Cadiz. 
R's for Reporters ; they're well to the 
fore, 
But they mustn't imagine they're run- 
ning this war. 
S is for Shafter, a man of great girth, 
In spite of which fact he is proving his 
worth. 
T stands for Toral, whose acted campaign 
Was played for the gallery over in 
Spain. 
U is for Union, the only cement 

To strengthen a State and disruptions 
prevent. 
V's for Vizcaya ; she made a great show, 
But proving a nuisance, we sent her 
below. 
W is for Wainwright, whose motto must 
be 
' ' The greater the odds, the better for me. ' ' 
X is the cross that is put against Spain, 
And means that she's out of the Blue 
Book again. 
Y's for the youngsters that sneaked to the 
front. 
And gave their poor mammas no end of 
a hunt. 
Z's for the zeal that has hall-marked this 
m fight ; 
This quality wins when stamped upon 
right. 

A. C. Needham. 



THE PRICE HE PAID, 

Teddy came to tell his playmate 
Of a most successful trade. 
" Ive got just the best knife 
time — 
Corkscrew, big and little blade, 
Real pearl handle — cost a dollar 

At the store a week ago ; 
But," and here he winked at Tommy, 
" Didn't cost me that, you know. 

"No, sir ; what I traded for it 

Wasn't worth a dime, T guess. 
You have seen the chain Bob gave me— 



this 



Brass all through and nothing less. 
Well, he took a fancy to it, 

When I hinted it was gold, 
And he swapped his jack-knife for it. 

My, but didn't he get sold ? " 

" Yes, perhaps," was Tommy's answer, 

In a grave and thoughtful way ; 
" But I think the knife has cost you 

More than I would like to pay." 
' ' You don't think that I got cheated ? ' ' 

" Yes," was Tommy's quick reply, 
" You could not afford to do it, 

For you had to tell a lie." 

"Brooklyn Eagle.' 



JOHNNY'S OPINION OF GRANDMOTHERS. 

A speech for a droll boy. should be spoken in a deliberate and 
thoughtful tone as if reflecting. 

Grandmothers are very nice folks ; 
They beat all the aunts in creation ; 
They let a chap do as he likes 
And don't worry about education. 

I'm sure I can't see it at all, 

What a poor fellow ever could do 

For apples and pennies and cakes, 
Without a grandmother or two. 

Grandmothers speak softly to ma's, 
To let a boy have a good time ; 

Sometimes they will whisper, 'tis true, 
T'other way when a boy wants to climb 

Grandmothers have muffins for tea, 
And pies, a whole row, in the cellar. 

And they're apt (if they know it in time) 
To make chicken -pies for a feller. 

And if he is bad now and then, 

And makes a great racketing noise, 

They only look over their specs 

And say, " Ah, these boys will be boys! 

' ' Life is only so short at the best : 
Let the children be happy to-day." 

Then they look for a while at the sky, 
And the hills that are far, far away. 

Quite often, as twilight comes on, 
Grandmothers sing hymns very low 

To themselves, as they rock by the fire, 
About heaven, and when they shall go. 



LITTLE FOLKS' SPEAKER 



3ii 



And then a boy, stopping to tnink, 

Will find a hot tear in his eye, 
To know what mnst come at the last, 

For grandmothers all have to die. 

I wish they could stay here and pray, 

For a boy needs their prayers every 
night. 

Some boys more than others, I s'pose ; 
Such fellers as me need a sight. 



F 



THE FAIRY PEOPLE'S SPINNING. 

or little men and little maids, 

When night is just beginning, 

Oh, then, on quiet hills and glades 

The fairies start their spinning. 



And fast each silver shuttle goes, 

In summer darkness chilly, 
To weave the redness of the rose, 

The whiteness of the lily. 

To count the cunning little elves 
Would surely make you dizzy, 

They do not know their host themselves, 
These wee folk quaint and busy. 

By brook and creek, by isle and shoal, 

By velvet field and valley, 
Dame Nature keeps their muster roll, 

So often as they rally. 

And when the little children wake 

In sunny mornings early, 
They see the lace the fairies make, 

A cobweb tissue pearly. 

It lightly folds o'er branch and stem, 
It shakes with dews a twinkle, 

And flings its cloth of gold and gem 
In many a filmy wrinkle. 

So little men and maids may dream 
While trolls and elves are playing 

Their looms beneath the starlight's gleam, 
And silent hours are flying. 

Margaret K. Sangster. 



TRUE BRAVERY. 

Dialogue for Boy and Girl of 10 and 12 Years. 

Ralph. Good-morning, Cousin Laura ! 
I have a word to say to you. 
Laura. Only a word ! It is yet 
half an hour to school-time, and I can listen. 



R. I saw you yesterday speaking to that 
fellow Sterling — Frank Sterling. 

L. Of course I spoke to Frank. What 
then ? Is he too good to be spoken to ? 

R. Far from it. You must give up his 
acquaintance. 

L. Indeed, Cousin Ralph ! I must give 
up his acquaintance ? On what compulsion 
must I ? 

R. If you do not wish to be cut by all 
the boys of the academy, you must cut 
Frank. 

L. Cut ! What do you mean by cut ? 

R. By cutting, I mean not recognizing an 
individual. When a boy who knows you 
passes you without speaking or bowing, he 
cuts you. 

L. I thank you for the explanation.. 
And I am to understand that I must either 
give up the acquaintance of my friend 
Frank, or submit to the terrible mortifica- 
tion of being ' ' cut ' ' by Mr. Ralph Burton 
and his companions ! 

R. Certainly. Frank is a boy of no spirit 
— in short, a coward. 

L. How has he shown it ? 

R. Why, a dozen boys have dared him to 
fight, and he refuses to do it. 

L. And is your test of courage a willing- 
ness to fight ? If so, a bull-dog is the most 
courageous of gentlemen. 

R. I am serious, Laura ; you must give 
him up. Why, the other day Tom Hard- 
ing put a chip on a fellow's hat, and dared 
Frank Sterling to knock it off. But Ster- 
ling folded his arms and walked off, while 
we all groaned and hissed. 

L. You did ? You groaned and hissed ? 
Oh, Ralph, I did not believe you had so lit- 
tle of the true gentlemen about you ! 

R. What do you mean ? Come, now, I do 
not like that. 

L. Were you at the great fire last night ? 

R. Yes ; Tom Harding and I helped work 
one of the engines. 

L. Did you see that boy go up the 
ladder ? 

R. Yes ; wouldn't I like to be in his 
shoes ! They say the Humane Society are 
going to give him a medal ; for he saved a 
baby's life and no mistake — at the risk of 
his own, too ; everybody said so ; for the 
ladder he went up was all charred and 



312 



LITTLE FOLKS ' SPEAKER 



weakened, and it broke short off before he 
got to the ground. 

/,. What boy was it ? 

R. Nobody could find out, but I suppose 
the morning paper will tell us all about it. 

L. I have a copy. Here's the account : 
' ' Great fire ; house tenanted by poor famil- 
ies ; baby left in one of the upper rooms ; 
ladder much charred ; fireman too heavy to 
go up ; boy came forward, ran up ; seized 
an infant ; descended safely ; gave it into 
arms of frantic mother." 

R. Is the boys name mentioned ? 

L.Ayl Here it is ! Here it is ! And 
who do you think he is ? 

R. Do not keep me in suspense. 

L. Well, then, he's the boy who was so 
afraid of knocking a chip off your hat — 
Frank Sterling — the - coward, as you called 
him. 

R. No ! I^et me see the paper for myself. 
There's the name, sure enough, printed in 
capital letters. 

L. But, cousin, how much more illus- 
trious an achievement it would have been 
for him to have knocked a chip off your 
hat ! Risking his life to save a chip of a 
baby was a small matter compared with 
that. Can the gratitude of a mother for 
saving her baby make amends for the 
ignominy of being cut by Mr. Tom Harding 
and Mr. Ralph Burton ? 

R. Don't laugh at me any more, Cousin 
Laura. I see I've been stupidly in the 
wrong. Frank Sterling is no coward. I'll 
ask his pardon this very day. 

L. Will you? My dear Ralph, you will 
in that case show that you are not without 
courage. 

GRANDPA'S AVERSION TO SLANG. 

IT wasn't so when I was young — 
We used plain language then ; 
We didn't speak of " them galoots," 
Meanin' boys or men. 

When speaking of the nice hand-write 

Of Joe, or Tom, or Bill, 
We did it plain — we didn't say, 

" He slings a nasty quill." 

An' when we saw a girl we liked, 
Who never failed to please, 



We called her pretty, neat and good, 
But not " about the cheese." 

Well, when we met a good old friend 

We hadn't lately seen, 
We greeted him, but didn't say, 

" Hello, you old sardine !" 

The boys sometimes got mad an' fit ; 

We spoke of kicks and blows ; 
But now they " whack him on the snoot," 

Or " paste him on the nose." 

Once when a youth was turned away 

By her he held most dear. 
He walked upon his feet — but now 

He " walks off on his ear." 

We used to dance when I was young, 

And used to call it so ; 
But now they don't — they only " sling 

The light fantastic toe." 

Of death we spoke in language plain 

That no one did perplex ; 
But in these days one dosen't die — 

He " passes in his checks." 

We praised the man of common sense ; 

" His judgment's good," we said 
But now they say : " Well, that old plum 

Has he got a level head." 

It's rather sad the children now 

Are learnin' all such talk ; 
They've learned to " chin " instead of chat, 

An' " waltz " instead of walk. 

To little Harry yesterday — 

My grandchild, aged two — 
I said, " You love grandpa ?" said he, 

" You bet your boots I do." 

The children bowed to a stranger once ; 

It is no longer so — 
The little girl, as well as boys, 

Now greets you with ' ' Helloa ! ' ' 

Oh, give me back the good old days, 

When both the old and young 
Conversed in plain, old-fashioned words, 

And slang was never "slung." 

B. Taylor, 



Part X 



ENCORES 



T^VERY popular reciter is frequently called upon to respond to the applause of a well 
~^ pleased audience. It is a critical undertaking, and yet one is thought selfish or in- 
capable who refuses. Experienced elocutionists avoid responding to an encore with a 
long or serious piece. Something short and pithy, different in character from the leading 
number, is more desirable. It is believed the following selections will meet the general 
and popular tastes. Other numbers in this volume (especially in the Little Folks' Depart- 
ment when a child character is desired) will be found available. 



THE POOR INDIAN. 

Speak in an exalted tone until the last line is reached. Ob- 
serve and interpret the humor cause y the transition from the 
sublime to the ridiculous. 



I 



know him by his faicon eye, 

His raven tress and mien of pride ; 
Those dingy draperies, as they fly, 
Tell that a great soul throbs inside ! 



No eagle-feathered crown he wears, 
Capping in pride his kingly brow ; 

But his crownless hat in grief declares, 
" I am an unthroned monarch now ! " 

' ' O noble son of a royal line ! ' ' 
I exclaim, as I gaze into his face, 

' ' How shall I knit my soul to thine ? 

How right the wrongs of thine injured 
race? 

' ' What shall I do for thee, glorious one ? 

To soothe thy sorrows my soul aspires. 
Speak ! and say how the Saxon's son 

May atone for the wrongs of his ruthless 
sires?" 

He speaks, he speaks ! — that noble chief! 

From his marble lips deep accents come ; 
And I catch the sound of his mighty grief — 

" Pie' gV me tree cent for git some rum /' ' 



U 



N 



JUST MY LUCK. 

EVER had no luck 

Any way," he sighed ; 
Fate has kep' me down, 
Or, at least, has tried ; 
Never found a cent, 

All I've got I earned ; 
No such word as luck, 
Fur as I'm concerned. 

' ' Never had no help 

Anywhere," he said ; 
" Always had to work 

For each bite o' bread ! 
Never took a chance 

That I wasn't caught ; 
Never won a bet, 

But I've lost a lot ! 

' ' Never had no fun 

All my life," he cried ; 
1 ' Wish when I was born 

I could just of died ! 
Bet you when I'm gone 

They'll invent some way 
Folks can live right on 

Till the judgment day, 
'Cause that there 'ud be 

Jist my luck ! " said he. 

S. K. Kiser. 



3*3 



3H 



ENCORES 



I 



A MOTHER'S ADVICE. 

F you want to please the men, 
Daughter mine ; 

I^earn a little bit of art, 
Some good poetry by heart, 
Languages to wit impart, 

Music fine. 
Know the proper way to dress, 
How to comfort and caress, 
Dance a little, gossip less, 

Daughter mine. 



If you want to please the men, 
Daughter mine ; 
Study how to mix a cake, 
Learn to sew and boil and bake, 
Say you cook for cooking's sake, 

How divine ! 
Be a housewife, all the rest 
' Counts but little ; truth confessed, 
Such girls always marry best, 
Daughter mine. 

Lalia MlTCHKI.Iv. 



INDIAN HIXED ORATORY. 

A native Indian barrister of Bengal re- 
cently made the following unique ad- 
dress in court: "My learned friend, 
with mere wind from a teapot, thinks to 
browbeat me from my legs ; but this is a 
guerilla warfare. I stand under the shoes 
of my client and only seek to place my bone 
of contention clearly in your honor's eye. 
My learned friend merely, and vainly, runs 
amok upon the sheet anchors of my case. 
My client is a widow, your honor ; a poor 
chap, with one post-mortem son ; a widow 
not able to eat more than one meal a day ; 
so my poor client has not such physique or 
mind as to be able to assault the lusty com- 
plainant. Yet she has been deprived of 
some of her more valuable leather — that is, 
the leather of her nose. My learned friend 
has said that there is on the side of his client 
a respectable witness — namely a pleader ; 
and since this witness is independent, there- 
fore he should be believed . But your honor, 
with your honor's vast experience, is pleased 
enough to observe that truthfulness is not 
so plentiful as blackberries in this country ; 



and I am sorry to say — though this witness 
is a man of my own feathers — that there are 
in my profession black sheep of every com- 
plexion, and some of them do not always 
speak gospel truth. Until the witness ex- 
plains what has become of my client's nose 
leather he cannot be believed. He cannot 
be allowed to raise a castle in the air by beat- 
ing upon a bush. So, trusting in that ad- 
ministration of British justice on which the 
sun never sets, I close my case." 



AVAST THERE, GEORGE. 

IF you can make the office, George, 
You have the right of every man 
To be the nation's President — 
Provided he's American. 
But somehow, when we think of it, 

We're bound in sorrow to aver 
We wish that you had held your peace 
And left things stand just as they were. 

At your age politics, dear George, 

Cannot be taken up with glee, 
Particularly by a man 

Who all his life has roamed the sea. 
The job you seem to hold a cinch 

Is fraught with trials and troubles sore ; 
You'd wish within a month that you'd 

Been blown up at Corregidor. 

Your slate is clean ; the people have 

Been proud to honor you, dear Coz. 
We hold it a misfortune that 

The office bee begins to buzz. 
We feel the idea that you hold 

Is really one that's demon sent ; 
We want you for our hero, George, 

And not, sir, for our President. 

Be warned in time — -dismiss the thought ; 

Your friends who wish you well beseech 
That you jack up your courage and 

Put this ambition out of reach. 
But if you mean to see it through — 

If you won't see you're being tricked — 
Then, meaning well to you, we say, 

Here's hoping, George, that you get 
licked ! 

WlUJAM HoSTER. 



ENCORES 



3i5 



UNFINISHED STILL. 

Encore — Suitable to follow a humorous piece. 

A baby's boot and a skein of wool 
Faded, and soiled and soft ; 
Odd things, you say, and no doubt 
you're right, 
Round a seaman's neck this stormy night, 
Up in the yards aloft. 

Most like it's folly ; but, mate, look here : 

When first I went to sea, 
A woman stood on the far-off strand, 
With a wedding-ring on the small, soft 
hand, 

Which clung so close to me. 

My wife — God bless her ! The day before, 

She sat beside my foot ; 
And the sunlight kissed her yellow hair, 
And the dainty fingers, deft and fair, 
Knitted a baby's boot. 

The voyage was over, I came ashore ; 

What, think you, found I there? 
A grave the daisies had sprinkled white, 
A cottage empty and dark as night, 

And this beside the chair. 

The little boot, 'twas unfinished still ; 

The tangled skein lay near ; 
But the knitter had gone away to rest, 
With the babe asleep on her quiet breast, 

Down in the church-yard drear. 

Sarah K. Bolton. 



AUNT JEMIMA'S COURTSHIP. 

Excellent selection to follow a serious recitation. 

Waal, girls — if you must know — reckon 
I must tell ye. Waal, t'was in the 
winter time, and father and I were 
sitting alone in the kitchen. We wur sit- 
ting thar sort o' quiet like, when father sez, 
sez he to me, "Jemima!" And I sez, 
sez I, "What, sir?" And he sez, sez he, 
" Wa'n't that a rap at the door?" and I sez, 
sez I, " No, sir. " Bimeby, father sez to me 
again, sez he, " Are you sure ?" And I sez, 
sez I, " No, sir." So 1 went to the door, 
and opened it, and sure enough there stood 
— a man. Waal, he came in and sat down by 
father, and father and he talked about 
almost everything you could think of ; they 
talked about the farm, they talked about 



the crops, and they talked about polices, and 
they talked about all other ticks. 

Bimeby father sez to me, sez he, 
"Jemima!" And I sez, sez I, "What, 
sir?" And he sez, "Can't we have some 
cider?', And I sez, sez I, " I suppose so." 
So I went down cellar and brought up a 
pitcher of cider, and I handed some cider to 
father, and then I handed some to the man ; 
and father he drinks, and then the man he 
drinks, till they drink it all up. After a 
while father sez to me, sez he, "Jemima!" 
And I sez, sez I, " What, sir?" And he sez, 
sez he, "Ain't it most time forme to be 
thinking about going to bed ?' ' And I sez, 
sez I, " Indeed, you are the best judge of 
that yourself, sir." "Waal," he sez, sez 
he, " Jemima, bring me my dressing-gown 
and slippers." And he put them on and 
arter a while he went to bed. 

And there sat that man ; and bimeby he 
began a-hitching his chair up toward mine 
— oh, my ! I was all in a nutter. And then 
he sez, sez he, " Jemima?" And I sez, sez 
I, "What, sir?" And he sez, sez he, 
"Will you have me?" And I sez, sez I, 
" No, sir !" for I was 'most scared to death. 
Waal, there we sat, and arter a while, will 
you believe me, he began backing his chair 
closer and closer to mine, and sez he, 
"Jemima?" And I sez, sez I, "What 
sir ?" And he sez, sez he, " Will you have 
me?" And I sez, sez I, " No sir !" Waal, 
by this time he had his arm around my 
waist, and I hadn't the heart to take it 
away, 'cause the tears was a-rollin' down 
his cheeks, and he sez, sez he, "Jemima ?" 
And I sez, sez I, "What, sir?" And he sez, 
sez he, "For the third and last time, I 
sha'n't ask ye again, will ye have me?" 
And I sez, sez I, " Yes. sir," — fur I didn't 
know what else to say. 

Sola Wood Rusk. 



MRS. LOFTY AND I. 

MRS. Lofty keeps a carriage, 
So do I ; 
She has dapple grays to draw it, 
None have I ; 
She's no prouder with her coachman 

Than am I 



3*6 



ENCORES 



With my blue-eyed laughing baby 

Trundling by ; 
I hide his face, lest she should see 
The cherub boy, and envy me. 

Her fine husband has white fingers, 

Mine has not ; 
He could give his bride a palace, 

Mine a cot ; 
Her's comes beneath the star-light, 

Ne'er cares she ; 
Mine comes in the purple twilight, 

Kisses me. 
And prays that He who turns life's sands ; 
Will hold his lov'd ones in His hands. 

Mrs. Lofty has her jewels, 

So have I ; 
She wears her's upon her bosom, 

Inside I ; 
She will leave her's at death's portals, 

By and by ; 
I shall bear the treasure with me, 

When I die; 
For I have love, and she has gold ; 
She counts her wealth, mine can't be told. 

She has those that love her station, 

None have 1 ; 
But I've one true heart beside me, 

Glad am I ; 
I'd not change it for a kingdom. 

No, not I ; 
God will weigh it in His balance 

By and by ; 
And then the difPrence He will define 
'Twixt Mrs. Lofty 's wealth and mine. 



" I'll shoot," be said, " if you don't come 
down 

Before I've counted ' three.' " 
Athwart the Don 's dark visage spread 

A terrifying frown. 
But the Yankee counted ' ' one ' ' and ' ' two, ' ' 

And the little old Don came down. 



HE CAME. 



TherK was a Don up in a tree, 
And a Yankee down below ; 
" Come down," said the Yankee to 
the Don, 
But the Don was rather slow. 
" What terms," he asked, " will you make 
with me 
If I come down to you ? 
No terms? Oh, Mr. Yankee man, 
That'll never, never do." 

The Yankee took aim with his gun 
At the Don up in the tree ; 



H 



THE VILLAGE CHOIR. 

A Parody on The Charge of the Light Brigade. 

'ai<f a bar, half a bar, 
Half a bar onward ! 
Into an awful ditch, 
Choir and precentor hitch, 
Into a mess of pitch, 
They led the Old Hundred. 
Trebles to right of them, 
Tenors to left of them, 
Basses in front of them, 

Bellowed and thundered . 
Oh, that precentor's look, 
When the sopranos took 
Their own time and hook 
From the Old Hundred. 

Screeched all the trebles here, 
Boggled the tenors there, 
Raising the parson's hair. 

While his mind wandered ; 
Theirs not to reason why 
This psalm was pitched too high ; 
Theirs but to gasp and cry 

Out the Old Hundred. 
Trebles to right of them, 
Tenors to left of them, 
Basses in front of them, 

Bellowed and thundered. 
Stormed they with shout and yell, 
Not wise they rang, nor well, 
Drowning the sexton's bell, 

While all the church wondered, 

Dire the precentor's glare, 
Flashed his pitchfork in air, 
Sounding the fresh keys to bear 

Out the Old Hundred. 
Swiftly he turned his back, 
Reached he his hat from rack, 
Them from the screaming pack, 

Himself he sundered. 
Tenors to right of him, 
Trebles to left of him, 



ENCORES 



3i7 



Discords behind him 

Bellowed and thundered. 
Oh, the wild howls they wrought : 
Right to the end they fought ! 
Some tune they sang, but not, 
Not the Old Hundred. 

"Andres Journal. 



' ' Dwell here upon this lonely isle, 

Where armies never tread ; 
And, man and ghost, we'll drink a toast 
To both the quick and dead — 

A gloomy, ghoulish, long wassail 
For blasted hopes . Hail , Cronj e , hail ! ' ' 



BONAPARTE TO THE BOER. 

In March, 1899, General Piet Cronje, commanding an army 
of 5,000 Boers, was surrounded by the British under General 
Roberts, on the Modder River, South Africa, and, after desperate 
fighting, was forced to surrender. Cronje and his army were 
transported to St Helena — the exile home and death-place of 
Napoleon Bonaparte — for safe keeping. 

Where St. Helena's surf-dashed crags 
Jut from Atlantic's waves, 
And winds shriek on from dawn to 
dawn, 
O'er countless sailor graves, 

We hear a shout — well-nigh a wail : 
"Hail, Afric's Lion ! Hail, Cronje, 
hail! 

A superhuman, piercing call, 

Hurled eastward to the land, 
Which, rent by war and stained with gore, 
Shrinks from the conqueror's hand, 

Comes from a wraith on that lone 

shore — 
Wraith of a conquered conqueror. 

Short-statured, booted, cloaked he stands, 

His grim gaze turned aside 
From Europe's plight, to note the fight 
That nigh broke England's pride. 

Gloom-visaged ghost, he hails the Boer, 
Who, beaten, yet showed Britain war. 

" Come, uncouth farmer, fighting man, 

To my sea-jailored tomb. 
Although for naught alike we fought, 
Ours is a common doom. 

You strove for freedom for your kin, 
While I great empires sought to win. 

' ' I boded bondage to the world — 

My fall relieved all lands, 
While Justice groans and Freedom moans 
O'er your defeated bands. 

But each was crushed by Albion's 

might ; 
Steer hither ; anchor in my bight. 

19 



THE NEW "LEST WE FORGET." 

When we've finished praising Cronje ; 
Likewise sympathised with Paul ; 
When we think we've wiped Old 
England off the map ; 
Let us stop for just a minute and listen, one 
and all 
To what occurred before our recent 
" scrap." 

We are absent-minded beggars, 
If the truth we must be told ; 
Though we ought not want too much for to 
remind us 
That when the whole of Europe tried our 
hands to make us hold, 
John Bull said, "No, you don't!" and 
stood behind us. 

Yes, we're absent-minded beggars, 

Or we'd drop a hint to John 
That we don't forget the friendly hand he 
held us 
When the Germans, French and Russians, 
with their warships hanging on , 
Tried their utmost to uphold the falling 
" Dagoes." 

John can do without our help, 

And if we wait awhile 
We will find his arm is just as strong to-day 
To beat down wrong and tyranny in his 
old familiar style ; 
And see that right and liberty hold sway. 

J. L, L. 

LITTLE ORPHANT ROBERTS. 

Announcement with Profuse Apologies to J. W. 
Riley. 

War always calls out the rhymesters and poets in profuse 
abundance. The English met with defeat in the South African 
War of 1899 and 1900, until Lord Roberts was sent to take com- 
mand. The following parody on Whitcomb Riley's "Elfchild,'" 
was written by a sympathise* with the Boers, in anticipation of 
what would happen to his Lordship. 

LITTLE Orphant Roberts goes to Africa, 
they say, 
To ride a horse, an' take the land, an* 
shoo the Boers away ; 



3i8 



ENCORES 



To strategize an' turrorize, an' show 'em 

what is what, 
To bring his Tommy Atkinses an ' make the 

battles hot ; 
An' the papers say he'll do it, when he hits 

upon a plan, 
Fur he's cool an' ka'm an' reticent, a British 

soldier man ; 
But he's got to git up early fer to put the 

Boers to rout, 
And the Gobbelins'll get him 

ef he don't 

watch out. 

Little Orphant Methuen he went there once, 

you know, ^ 

An' he swing 'd his sword an' cannons, an' 

he struck a mighty blow ; 
But he hit so hard an' spiteful that he some- 
how lost the hang, 
An' his bleedin', bloomin' effort was a 

hawful boomerang ; 
For the Burghers riz up powerful among 

the rocky hills 
An' they knocked 'em an' they socked 'em 

with their little Mauser pills, 
Till he had to up an' quit 'em with some 

cannon up the spout, 
For the Gobbelins they got 'im 

ef he did 

watch out. 

Little Orphant Gatacre he also tried it on ; 
He had a lot of soldiers, an' where have 

they all goue ? 
The Fusiliers an' Carbineers, the Lancers 

an' the like, 
Oom Paul he went an' captured 'em, an' 

marched 'em down the pike, 
Oom Paul he's some on strategy, an' orful 

on the fight ; 
Though of course to lick the English to the 

English don't seem right, 
But he lammed 'em, an' he slammed 'em', 

an' he rammed 'em round about, 
An' the Gobbelins got Gatacre 

ef he did 

watch out. 

Little Orphant Buller was the last the Brit- 
ish sent, 

An' with drums, an' guns an' baggernets 
away the army went, 



But in diggin' out the Dutchmen they didn't 

have the knack, 
An' a lot of Buller 's soldiers ain't a-never 

comin' back ; 
For them tarnal Boers they peppered 'em, 

an' some of 'em they reeled, 
An' aheap of 'em was scattered, dead an' 

dyin' on the field, 
An' the Dutch took 'leven cannon, an' 

they proved beyond a doubt 
That the Gobbelins got Buller 

ef he did 

watch out. 

So little Orphant Roberts wants to corrugate 

his brow ; 
He's up against it good an' hard against 

the real thing now ; 
He ain't a-fightin' feathers, nur top-knots, 

an' long spears, 
They're as tough as rhino -seeruses, them 

stubborn old Mynheers ; 
They have bought a grist of rifles that'l kill 

a man a mile, 
An' chawin' of 'em up is jis' like bitin' on 

a file. 
An' Roberts he ain't bullet-proof, no matter 

how they shout 
An' the Gobbelins'll git HIM 
EF HE DON'T 

WATCH OUT. 
Pbtkr Pipkr. 



ONLY A BABY'S HAND, 

uTOiG time to-night," the drummers 
J3 said, 

As to supper they sat them down ; 
"To-morrow's Sunday, and now's our 
chance 
To illuminate the town." 

" Good ! " cries Bill Barnes, the j oiliest — 

The favorite of all ; 
" Yes ; let's forget our troubles now 

And hold high carnival." 

The supper done, the mail arrives ; 

Each man his letters scanning, 
With fresh quotations — up or down — 

His busy brain is cramming. 

But Bill — " why, what's come over him— 
Why turn so quick about ? ' ' 



ENCORES 



3i9 



He says — just as his pards start forth, 
" I guess I won't go out." 

His letter bore no written word, 

No prayer from vice to flee ; 
Only a tracing of a hand — 

A baby's hand — of three. 

What a picture comes before his mind — 
What does his memory paint ? 

A baby at her mother's knee — 
His little white-robed saint. 

What cares a man for ridicule 

Who wins a victory grand ? 
Bill slept in peace, his brow was smoothed 

By a shadowy little hand. 

Naught like the weak things of the world 

The power of sin withstand ; 
No shield between man's soul and wrong 

Like a little baby hand. 

" Chicago Journal." 



But happy and cheerful, 
We feel life has much that's worth living 
for yet. 



TROUBLE BORROWERS. 

THERE'S many a trouble 
Would break like a bubble, 
And into the waters of Lethe 
depart, 
Did we not rehearse it, 
And tenderly nurse it, 
And give it a permanent place in the heart. 

There's many a sorrow 

Would vanish to-morrow, 
Were we but willing to furnish the wings ; 

So sadly intruding 

And quietly brooding, 
It hatches out all sorts of horrible things. 

How welcome the seeming 
Of looks that are beaming, 
Whether one's wealthy or whether one's 
poor ! 

Eyes bright as a berry, 
Cheeks red as a cherry, 
The groan and the curse and the heartache 
can cure. 

Resolve to be merry, 
All worry to ferry 
Across the famed waters that bid us forget ; 
And no, longer fearful 



THE OLD CANE POLE. 

Oh, the old cane pole — how my heart 
beat high 
When I used to swing it in the days 
gone by 
Where the bending rushes and the long 

lake grass 
Furnished hiding places for the hungry 

bass ! 
When a great big lunker that was tempting 

fate 
Telegraphed a message that he had the bait, 
'Twas a sweet sensation that'd stir the 

soul — 
Spattin' in the rushes with an old cane pole. 

My whole anatomy with laughter thrills 
To see a rod and reel and the other frills 
The hifalutin' artist brings into play 
To snake out bass in a scientific way. 
He'll look around with a pitying smile 
At the fellow fishing in the good old style. 
But in every case I will bet my roll 
That he won't be in it with the old cane 
pole. 

Oh, the old cane pole — there's nothing so 

fine 
As to feel a bass tug on a good stout line. 
For if you've got your nerve and you work 

it right 
You are sure to land him in a good square 

fight; 
And when you're going home you won't 

have to guess 
Where your fish are coming from — you'll 

have a mess. 
So let the fancy fishermen cast the troll, 
But I'll spat the rushes with an old cane 

pole. 

' ' Chicago Record . ' ' 



THE LOST PENNY. 

In little Daisy's dimpled hand 
Two bright, new pennies shone ; 
One was for Rob (at school just then), 
The other Daisy's own. 



320 



ENCORES 



While waiting Rob's return she rolled 

Both treasures round the floor, 

When suddenly they disappeared, 

And one was seen no more. 

" Poor Daisy. Is your penny lost ? " 

Was asked in accents kind. 

"Why, no, mine's here!" she quickly 

said, 
"It's Rob's I cannot find." 



DID YOU EVER SEE — ? 

Ladies and gentlemen, while thanking 
you for your courteous recall I really 
do not feel like intruding another 
selection upon you. Its better to change 
the subject (laughing with hand to chin). 
Let us think on sober things. Let us 
reflect. Did you ever think how little we 
have really seen of the common things in 
every day life around us? For instance, 
did any of you ever see (pause after each of 
the following questions, looking medita- 
tively at the audience) 

A hatter cap the climax ? 

The hammer for nailing a lie? 

Powder on the face of the waters ? 

The lock that the key to the situation 
fits? 

A higher forehead than the brow of the 
mountain ? 

The hod that is used for carrying coals to 
Newcastle ? 

The ladder that would reach to the top of 
the morning? 

A tailor who had the pattern to the cloak 
of friendship ? 

The brush that a man uses when he paints 
the town red ? 

The dentist who would undertake to treat 
the teeth of the storm ? 

Leaving you to the calculation of such 
timely and important problems, I bid you 
good night. 

TOTAL ANNIHILATION. 

In response to your kindly recall I'll recite 
a characteristic little poem entitled 
Total Annihilation. 
Oh, he was a Bowery blootblack bold, 
And his years they numbered nine ; 
Rough and unpolished was he, albeit 
He constantly aimed to shine. 



As proud as a king, on his box he sat, 

Munching an apple red ; 
While the boys of his set looked wistfully 
on, 

And " Give us a bite ! " they said. 

But the bootblack smiled a lordly smile ; 

" No free bites here ! " he cried. 
Then the boys they sadly walked away, 

Save one who stood at his side. 

' ' Bill , give us the core ? " he whispered low. 

That bootblack smiled once more. 
And a mischievous dimple grew in his 
cheek : 

" There ain't goin" to be no core ! " 



A MAIDEN'S IDEAL OF A HUSBAND. 

GENTEEL in personage, 
Conduct and equipage, 
Noble by heritage, 
Generous and free : 
Brave, not romantic ; 
Learned, not pedantic ; 
Frolic, not frantic ; 
This must he be. 

Honor maintaining, 
Meanness disdaining, 
Still entertaining, 

Engaging and new. 
Neat, but not finical ; 
Sage, but not cynical ; 
Never tyrannical, 

But ever true. 

Henry Carey. 



AIN'T HE CUTE. 

Arrayed in snow-white pants and vest 
And other raiment fair to view, 
I stood before my sweethear Sue, — 
The charming creature I love best. 

" Tell me, and does my costume suit ? " 
I asked that apple of my eye, 

And then the charmer made reply — 
" Oh, yes, you do look awful cute ! " 

Although I frequently had heard 
My sweetheart vent her pleasure so, 
I must confess I did not know 

The meaning of that favorite word. 



ENCORES 



321 



But presently at window side 

We stood and watched the passing throng, 
And soon a donkey passed along 

With ears like sails extending wide. 

And gazing at the doleful brute 

My sweetheart gave a merry cry, — 
I quote her language with a sigh, — 

" Oh, Charlie, ain't he awful cute ? " 



H 



MARCHIN' WID DE BAN'. 

The love of music is inherent in the breast of the negro race. 
In reciting the following lines the speaker should be alive with 
animation as if elated by the sound of some inspiring march. 
The aciion of a drum-major and keeping step should be acted. 

OWK'S mighty monstrous happy, 
. In de middle ob de day 

When the sun am shinin' brightly 
An' de flags am fly in gay ; 
When a ban' ob sixty pieces 
(Sixty pieces, mo' o' less) 
Plays sich lubly music 

Dat it lull yo' soul to res' . 
Wid de drum majah a-struttin' 

Lak a turkey goblah gran' 
An' we am dancin' an' a-prancm' 
An' a-marchin' wid de ban'. 

Keepin' step am jus' ez eazy 

When the ban' begin' to play, 
Jus' comes to us as nachal 

Ez a hoss come to his hay, 
Kas ouah h'ahts am full ob gladness 

When de drums begin to beat, 
Wid dey thumpin' an' a-bumpin' 

While we keeps time wid ouah feet. 
De pleasure am jus' 'licious — 

De fines' in de Ian' — 
When we am dancin' an' a-prancin' 

An' a-marchin' wid de ban'. 

Ef yo' eber has some trubbel, 

In any time ob yeah, 
Collectin' de cullud people, 

A-livin' fuh an' neah, 
Git a ban ob' sixty pieces, 

All dressed in unifohms, 
Wid dem gol' things on dey shouldahs 

An' red stripes 'roun' they ahms, 
Den all de cullud people — 

De yaller, black an' tan — 
Will quit dey situations 

An' go marchin' wid dat ban'. 

Phil. H. Brown. 



DAD'S SWORE OFF. 

K'S fussin' now from morn till night 

Ain't nuthin' ever goin' right; 
He thes looks mad enough to fight— 
Fer dad's swore off! 



He kicks the dog, an' throws the cat 
Over the palin's high — like that ! 
Ain't nuthin' he ain't stormin' at — 
Fer dad's swore off ! 

He says that breakfast's alius late, 
Or thes so hot it cracks the plate ! 
He'll eat down town — he thes can't wait ! 
Fer dad's swore off ! 

No thing on earth kin please him — he 
Is mad as hornets gits to be ; 
Ain't any hope fer maw an' me — 
Fer dad's swore off! 

" Atlanta Constitution." 



FROM SUBLIME TO RIDICULOUS. 

The speaker should appear in deep earnest as if delivering a 
sublime poem or an oration. Be careful to place the emphasis on 
ridiculous passages as if considering them of grave importance. 

Afar down the valley a lone ragman 
drove his chariot slowly along and 
chanted his plaintive lay. The wind 
moaned through the chimney-pots, the red 
sun looked dimly down through the smoke, 
and the little bird stood on the roof of the 
cowshed and scratched its neck. 

The little bird stood on the roof of the 
cowshed and scratched its neck. Sadly the 
stray policeman in gray distance swiped a 
banana from the cart of a passing Italian 
and peeled it with a grimy hand. He was 
thinking, thinking. And the dead leaves 
still choked the tin spout above the rain- 
water barrel in the backyard. 

The little bird stood on the roof of the 
cowshed and scratched its neck . Adown the 
gutters in the lonely street ran murky pud- 
dles on their long, long journey to the dis- 
tant sea. Borne on the wings of the slug- 
gish breeze, came a far-off murmur of 
vagrant dogs in fierce contention, making 
life a hollow mockery to some homeless cat. 
And amid it all the little bird stood on the 
cowshed and scratched its neck. And it 
softly said : " / scratch it because it itches" 



3 22 



ENCORES 



FAREWELL, OLD SHOE. 

This selection is more effective if the speaker will hold an old 
shoe in his hand and address it in a familiar way, as if talking to 
an old friend. 

Adieu ! adieu, 
My poor old shoe ! 

What comfort I have had with you ! 
My sole companion day by day, 
You've cheered and soothed my weary way ! 

A fond adieu, 

My dear old shoe ! 
Most faithful friend I've found in you ! 
Alike, midst fair or wintry weather, 
We've shared life's pilgrimage together. 

Now rent and torn, 

And sadly worn, 
Of every trace of beauty shorn. 
'Tis with an honest, heart-felt sigh 
I feel that I must throw you by. 

A sad adieu, 

Poor worn-out shoe ! 
What sorry plights you've borne me 

through ! 
And, oh ! it tears my tender heart 
To think that you and I must part. 

Once more, adieu, 

My faithful shoe ! 
I ne'er shall find the likes o' you, 
And I will bless your memory 
For all the good you've been to me. 

No other boot 

Can ever suit 
As you have done my crippled foot ! 
No other shoe can ever be 
The tried, true friend you've been to me. 

A last adieu, 

Dear cast off shoe ! 
Whatever may become of you, 
Accept, dear, easiest, best of shoes, 
This farewell offering of my muse. 



GRANDPAPA'S SPECTACLES. 

Grandpapa's spectacles cannot be found ; 
He has searched all the rooms, high 
and low, 'round and 'round ; 
Now he calls to the young ones, and what 

does he say ? 
' ' Ten cents for the child who will find them 
to-day." 

Then Henry and Nelly and Edward all ran, 
And a most thorough hunt for the glasses 

began, 
And dear little Nell, in her generous way, 
Said : ' ' I '11 look for them , grandpa , without 

any pay," 

All through the big Bible she searches with 
care 

That lies on the table by grandpapa's chair ; 

They feel in his pockets, they peep in his 
hat, 

They pull out the sofa, they shake out the 
mat. 

Then down on all fours, like two good-na- 
tured bears , 

Go Harry and Ned under tables and chairs, 

Till, quite out of breath, Ned is heard to 
declare, 

He believes that those glasses are not any- 
where. 

But Nelly , who , leaning on grandpapa ' s knee , 
Was thinking most earnestly where they 

could be, 
Looked suddenly up in the kind, faded eyes, 
And her own shining brown ones grew big 

with surprise. 

She slapped both her hands — all her dim- 
ples came out — 

She turned to the boys with a bright, roguish 
shout : 

"You may leave off your looking, both 
Harry and Ned, 

For there are the glasses on grandpapa's 
head!" 



Part XI 

DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



A dapTKd to society, school and parlor entertainments. The varied character of the 
"^^ selections, comprising domestic, humorous, pathetic, historical, dramatic and 
classical numbers, makes the labor of preparing a varied program comparatively easy. 
Special selections for children will be found in Part ix. The Shakspearean Department, 
Part xii, is available for the best shorter scenes from the works of the great dramatist. 



A HOriE SCENE IN THE CHAPLAIN'S 
FAillLY. 

Dialogue from "Little Women." Arranged by 
Frances Putnam Pogle. 

Characters: Jo (15 years old)j Margaret or " Meg," (16 
years old), Elizabeth or " Beth," (13 years old), Amy (about 11 
years old), Mrs. March, 

Parlor scene. Some rugs scattered around, low sewing table, 
on which is work-basket, two or three low stools, rocking chairs. 

Jo, knitting on a blue army sock, and sitting at Beth's feet on 
a low stool. 

Margaret crocheting. 

Amy trying to curl her hair, and looking at herself in a 
small hand-glass. 

Beth reading and eating an apple. 

Jo. Christmas won't be Christmas without 
any presents. 
Meg. It's so dreadful to be poor ! 

Amy. I don't think it's fair for some girls 
to have plenty of pretty things, and other 
girs nothing at all. 

Beth. We've got father and mother and 
each other. 

Jo. We haven't got father, and shall not 
have him for a long time. 

Meg. You know the reason mother pro- 
posed not having any presents this Christ- 
mas was because it is going to be a hard 
winter for everyone ; and she thinks we 
ought not to spend money for pleasure, when 
our men are suffering so in the army. We 
can't do much, but we can make our little 
sacrifices, and ought to do it gladly. But I 
am afraid I don't. 

Jo. But I don't think the little we should 
spend would do any good. We've each got 
a dollar, and the army wouldn't be much 
helped by our giving that. I agree not to 



expect anything from mother or you, but I 
do want to buy Undine and Sintram for my- 
self; I've wanted it so long. 

Beth. I planned to spend mine on music. 

Amy. I shall get a nice box of Faber's 
drawing-pencils ; I really need them. 

Jo. Mother didn't say anything about our 
money, and she won't wish us to give up 
everything. Let's each buy what we want 
and have a little fun ; I'm sure we work 
hard enough to earn it. 

Meg. I'm sure / do, — teaching those tire- 
some children nearly all day, when I'm long- 
ing to enjoy myself at home. 

Jo. You don't have half such a hard time 
as I do. How would you like to be shut up 
for hours with a nervous, fussy old lady, 
who keeps you trotting, is never satified, 
and worries you till you're ready to fly out 
of the window or cry ? 

Beth. It's naughty to fret ; but I do think 
washing dishes and keeping things tidy is 
the worst work in the world. It makes me 
cross, and my hands get so stiff I can't prac- 
tice well at all. 

Amy. I don't believe any of you suffer as I 
do, for you don't have to go to school with 
impertinent girls, who plague you if you 
don't know your lessons, and laugh at your 
dresses, and label your father if he isn't rich, 
and insult you when your nose isn't nice. 

Jo. (Laughing) If you mean libel I'd say 
so, and not talk about labels, as if papa was 
a pickle-bottle. 



323 



324 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



Amy. (Indignantly) I know what I mean, 
and you needn't be statirical about it. It's 
proper to use good words and improve your 
vocabilary . 

Meg. Don't peck at one another, chil- 
dren. Don't you wish we had the money 
papa lost when we were little, Jo ? Dear 
me! how happy and good we'd be, if we 
had no worries ? 

Beth. You said, the other day, you 
thought we were a deal happier than the 
King children, for they were fighting and 
fretting all the time, in spite of their money. 

Meg. So I did, Beth. Well, I think we 
are ; for, though we do have to work, we 
make fun for ourselves, and are a pretty 
jolly set, as Jo. would say. 

Amy. Jo. does use such slang words ! (Jo. 
immediately sits up, puts her hands in her 
pockets, and begins to whistle.) Don't, 
Jo.; it's so boyish ! 

Jo. That's why I do it. 

Amy. I detest rude, unlady-like girls ! 

Jo. I hate affected, niminy-piminy chits ! 

Beth. (Singing comically) ' Birds in their 
little nests agree.' 

(Both look rather shame-faced as they 
subside.) 

Meg. Really, girls, you are both to be 
blamed. You are old enough to leave off 
boyish tricks, and to behave yourself, 
Josephine. It didn't matter so much when 
you were a little girl ; but now you are so 
tall, and turn up your hair, you should 
remember that you are a young lady. 

Jo. (Pulling down her hair.) I'm not ! 
and if turning up my hair makes me one, 
I'll wear it in two tails till I'm twenty. I 
hate to think I've got to grow up, and be 
Miss March, and wear long gowns, and 
look as prim as a China-aster ! It's bad 
enough to be a girl, anyway, when I like 
boys' games and work and manners ! I 
can't get over my disappointment in not 
being a boy ; and it's worse than ever now, 
for I'm dying to go and fight with papa, 
and I can only stay at home and knit, like 
a poky old woman ! (Shaking the blue 
sock till the needles rattle.) 

Beth, f Stroking Jo. 's head tenderly.) Poor 
Jo.! It's too bad, but it can't be helped; 
so you must try to be contented with making 



your name boyish, and playing brother to 
us girls. 

Meg. As for you, Amy, you are alto- 
gether too particular and prim. Your airs 
are funny now ; but you'll grow up an 
affected little goose, if you don't take care. 
I like your nice manners and refined way of 
speaking, when you don't try to be elegant; 
but your absurd words are as bad as Jo.'s 
slang. 

Beth. If Jo. is a tom-boy and Amy a 
goose, what am I, please? 

Meg. (Warmly.) You're a dear, and 
nothing else. 

(The clock strikes six. A bell may be 
tapped lightly six times behind scenes. 
Beth brings out a pair of old slippers, 
while Meg gets up and folds away her 
crocheting, and Amy draws forward an 
easy chair, and Jo. reaches out and takes 
up the slippers looking tenderly at them.) 

Jo. They are quite worn out ; Marmee 
must have a new pair. 

Beth. I thought I'd get her some with 
my dollar. 

Amy. No, I shall ! 

Meg. I'm the oldest. 

Jo. I'm the man of the family now ; papa 
is away, and / shall provide the slippers, 
for he told me to take special care of mother 
while he was gone. 

Beth. I'll tell you what we'll do, let's each 
get her something for Christmas, and not 
get anything for ourselves. 

Jo. That's like you dear. What will we 
get? 

Meg. I shall give her a nice pair of 
gloves . 

Jo. Army shoes, best to be had. 

Beth. Some handkerchiefs, all hemmed. 

Amy. I'll get a little bottle of cologne ; 
she likes it, and it won't cost much, so I'll 
have some left to buy my pencils. 

Meg. How will we give the things ? 

Jo. Put them on the table, and bring her 
in and see her open the bundles. Don't you 
remember how we used to do on our birth- 
days ? 

Beth. I used to be so frightened when it 
was my turn "to sit in the big chair with the 
crown on, and see you all come marching 
round to give the presents, with a kiss. I 
liked the things and the kisses, but it was 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



325 



dreadful to have you all sit looking at me 
while I opened the bundles. 

Jo. (Marching up and down, with her 
hands behind her.) Let Marmee think we are 
getting things for ourselves, and then sur- 
prise her. We must go shopping to-mor- 
row afternoon, Meg ; there is so much to do 
about the play for Christmas night. 

(Enter Mrs. March.) 

Mrs. M. Well, dearies, how have you got 
on to-day? There was so much to do, get- 
ting the boxes ready to go to-morrow (tak- 
ing off gloves) that I didn't come home to 
dinner (throwing off cloak and bonnet). 
Has any one called , Beth ? How is your 
cold, Meg ? (Beth takes off her mother's 
shoes and puts on the warm slippers.) Jo., 
you look tired to death. Come and kiss 
me, baby (to Amy). 

(The girls all cluster around their mother. 
Jo. leans on the back of the chair, Meg sits 
on one arm of chair, Beth cuddles at her 
feet, and Amy snuggles in her lap.) 

Mrs. M. I've got a treat for you (holding 
up a letter) . 

Jo. A letter ! a letter ! Three cheers for 
father ! 

Mrs. M. Yes, a nice long letter. He is 
well, and thinks he shall get through the 
cold season better than we feared. He sends 
all sorts of loving wishes for Christmas, and 
an especial message to you girls. 

Meg. I think it was so splendid in father 
to go as a chaplain when he was too old to 
be drafted, and not strong enough for a sol- 
dier. 

Jo. Don't I wish I could go as a drummer 
or a nurse, so I could be near him and help 
him ! 

Amy. It must be disagreeable to sleep in 
a tent, and eat all sorts of bad-tasting things, 
and drink out of a tin mug. 

Beth. When will he come home, mar- 
mee"? 

Mrs. M. Not for many months, dear, un- 
less he is sick. He will stay and do his 
work faithfully as long as he can, and we 
won't ask for him back a minute sooner than 
he can be spared. Now come upstairs and 
hear the letter. 

(They all leave the room,) 

Louisa M. Ai^cott. 



THE CREEDS OF THE BFLLS. 

Arranged by Ten Little Girls for their " Chris- 
tian Endeavor ' ' Entertainment. 
How sweet the chime of the Sabbath 
bells ! 
Each one its creed in music tells, 
In tones that float upon the air, 
As soft as song , as pure as prayer ; 
And I will put in simple rhyme 
The language of the golden chime ; 
My happy heart with rapture swells 
Responsive to the bells, sweet bells. 

FIRST GIKX. 
' ' In deeds of love excel ! excel ! ' ' 
Chimed out from ivied towers a bell ; 
' ' This is the church not built on sands, 
Emblem of one not built with hands ; 
In forms and sacred rites revere, 
Come worship here ! come worship here ! 
In rituals and faith excel ! ' ' 
Chimed out the Episcopalian bell. 

SECOND GIRI,. 

" Oh, heed the ancient landmarks well ! " 
In solemn tones exclaimed a bell ; 
' ' No progress made by mortal man 
Can change the just eternal plan ; 
With God there can be nothing new ; 
Ignore the false, embrace the true, 
While all is well ! is well ! is well ! ' ' 
Pealed out the good old Dutch church bell. 

THIRD GIRIv. 

' ' Ye purifying waters swell ! " i 
In mellow tones rang out a bell ; 
Though faith alone in Christ can save, 
Man must be plunged beneath the wave, 
To show the world unfaltering faith 
In what the sacred scripture saith : 
Oh swell ! ye rising waters, swell ! " 
Pealed out the clear- toned Baptist bell. 

FOURTH GIRI,. 

" Not faith alone, but works as well, 
Must test the soul ! ' ' said a soft bell ; 
Come here and cast aside your load, 
And work your way along the road, 
With faith in God, and faith in man, 
And hope in Christ, where hope began ; 
Do well ! do well ! do well ! do well ! " 
Rang out the Unitarian bell. 



326 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



FIFTH GIRL. 

11 Farewell ! farewell ! base world, fare- 
well ! " 
In touching tones exclaimed a bell ; 
11 Life is a boon, to mortals given, 
To fit the soul for bliss in heaven ; 
Do not invoke the avenging rod, 
Come here and learn the way to God ; 
Say to the world farewell ! farewell ! ' ' 
Pealed forth the Presbyterian bell. 

SIXTH girl. 

" To all the truth we tell, we tell ! " 
Shouted in ecstasies a bell ; 
" Come all ye weary wanderers, see ! 
Our Lord has made salvation free ! 
Repent, believe, have faith, and then 
Be saved and praise the Lord, Amen ! 
Salvation's free, we tell ! we tell ! " 
Shouted the Methodistic belL 

SEVENTH GIRL. 

" In after life there is no hell ! " 
In rapture rang a cheerful bell ; 
" Look up to heaven this holy day, 
Where angels wait to lead the way ; 
There are no fires, no fiends to blight 
The future life ; be just and right. 
No hell ! no hell ! no hell ! no hell ! " 
Rang out the Universalist bell. 

EIGHTH GIRL. 

1 ' The Pilgrim Fathers heeded well 

My cheerful voice," pealed forth a bell; 

' ' No fetters here to clog the soul ; 

No arbitrary creeds control 

The free heart and progressive mind, 

That leave the dusty past behind. 

Speed well, speed well, speed well, speed 

well!" 
Pealed out the Independent bell. 

NINTH GIRL. 

" No Pope, no Pope, no doom to hell ! " 
The Protestant rang out a bell ; 
" Great Luther left his fiery zeal 
Within the hearts that truly feel 
That loyalty to God will be 
The fealty that makes man free. 
No images where incense fell ! ' ' 
Rang out old Martin Luther's bell. 



TENTH GIRL. 

" All hail, ye saints in heaven that dwell 
Close by the cross ! ' ' exclaimed a bell ; 
" Lean o'er the battlements of bliss, 
And deign to bless a world like this ; 
Let mortals kneel before this shrine — 
Adore the water and the wine ! 
All hail ye saints, the chorus swell ! " 
Chimed in the Roman Catholic bell. 

IN chorus. 

" Ye workers who have toiled so well, 
To save the race ! ' ' said a sweet bell ; 
"With pledge, and badge, and banner, 

come, 
Each brave heart beating like a drum ; 
Be royal men of noble deeds. 
For love is holier than creeds ; 
Drink from the well, the well, the well ! " 
In rapture rang the Temperance bell. 

George W. Bungay. 



THE POLISH BOY. 

Characters. 

Mother — Black lace or velvet dress ; bracelets, rings ; cross 
at the throat. . . . 

Boy — Black velvet suit, white collar and cuffs ; light hair m 
curls about neck ; dagger. 

Ruffians — Long cloaks and hoods. 

Scene. 

A room lighted with candles ; at back of stage, form on bier^ 
covered over with black; candles at head and foot. Curtain 
rises, discovering the mother kneeling beside the bier, child cling- 
ing to her. Muffled tread, as of men marching, and sound of 
beating drums grows near. Ruffians burst in, breaking a garland 
of flowers stretched across the entrance. 

Mother springs up and clasps the boy to her breast ; eyes 
flash ; speaks with great dignity and air of defiance. 

Back ! Ruffians, back ! Nor dare to 
tread 
Too near the body of my dead i 
Nor touch the living boy. I stand 
Between him and your lawless band I 
No traitor he. But listen ! I 
Have cursed your master's tyranny. 
I cheered my lord to join the band 
Of those who swore to free our land, 
Or fighting die ; and when he pressed 
Me for the last time to his breast 
I knew that soon his form would be 
Low as it is, or Poland free. 
But he is dead — the good — the brave— 
And I, his wife, am worse — a slave ! 
Take me, and bind these arms, these hands, 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



327 



With Russia's heaviest iron bands, 
And drag me to Siberia's wilds to perish 
If it will save my child. 

First Ruffian. Peace, woman, peace ! 
Give us the boy ! 

(Grasping the boy, who struggles and cries out.) 

Mother. One moment ! one ! 
Will land or gold redeem my son ? 
If so {kneeling), I bend my Polish knee, 
And Russia, beg this boon of thee, (hands 

outstretched) 
Take lands, take palaces, take all, 
But leave him free from Russia's thrall ! 
Take these ! 

(Strips hands of rings and bracelets ; takes crff Cross also, and 
throws them on the floor at the feet of the leader, who stoops and 
eagerly gathers them up The boy meanwhile escapes to mother, 
who shows joy. Ruffians again take him from her. With a cry 
of despair she falls across bier. Boy breaks from ruffians and 
stands proudly and defiantly before them.) 

Boy. Ye hold me not! No, no; nor 

can. 
This hour has made the boy a man. 
The world shall witness that one soul 
Fears not to prove itself a Pole. 
I knelt beside my slaughter' d sire, 
Nor felt one throb of vengeful ire, 
I wept upon his marble brow — (with much 

feeling) 
Yes, wept, (with sudden dignity) I was a 

child ; but now 
My noble mother on her knee, 
Has done the work of years for me. 
Although in this small tenement, 
My soul is cramped, unbowed, unbent ; 
I've still within me ample power 
To free myself this very hour. 

(Pointing to dagger hidden inside pocket.) 

This dagger in my breast, and then, (taunt- 
ingly) 
Where's your boasted power, base men ? 

(Draws dagger, holds high in air; ruffians start back in 
affright ) 

Ha ! start ye back ? Fool ! coward ! knave ! 
Think ye my noble father's grave 
Would drink the life-blood of a slave ? 
The pearls that on its handle flame, 
Would blush to rubies in their shame 
Of such ignoble rest ! 
No ! thus : 

(Striking breast with dagger.) 

I rend the tyrant's chains, 
And fling him back a boy's disdain. 



(Slowly turning to where the mother lies.) 

Up ! mother, up ! I'm Free ! I'm Free ! 

(soft music) 
I only wait for thy embrace. 
One last, last word ! a blessing, one; 
To know thou approv'st what I have done. 
No look ! no word ! can'st thou not feel 
My warm blood o'er thy hear congeal ? 
Speak ! Mother, speak ! lift up thy head ! 
What, silent yet ? Then art thou dead ? 
Great God, I thank Thee ! Mother, I (soft 

music) 
Rejoice with thee ! and — thus — to — die. 

(Falls slowly at the mother's side with head on her breast.) 



FAILED. 



This selection may be used as a recitation without the words 
in parenthesis or as a dialogue by introducing the parentheses as 
indicated. If so used parties should dress in proper costume for 
middle aged people. 

(Husband looking thoughtfully at wife). 

YES, I'm a ruined man, Kate — everything 
gone at last ; 
Nothing to show for the trouble and 
toil of the weary years that are 
past ; 
Houses and lands and money have taken 

wings and fled ; 
This very morning I signed away the roof 
from over my head. 

(Wife weeps quietly and husband takes her hand.) 

I shouldn't care for myself, Kate ; I'm used 

to the world's rough ways ; 
I've dug and delved and plodded along 

through all my manhood days ; 
But I think of you and the children, and it 

almost breaks my heart ; 
For I thought so surely to give my boys 

and girls a splendid start. 

So many years on the ladder, I thought I 

was near the top — 
Only a few days longer, and then I expected 

to stop, 
And put the boys in my place, Kate, with 

an easier life ahead ; 
But now I must give the prospect up ; that 

comforting dream is dead. 

(Wife quickly dries her tears and looks up with a smile, 
"You're worth more than money my husband.") 

"I am worth more than my gold, eh?" 
You're good to look at it so ; 



3 25 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



But a man isn't worth very much, Kate, 
when his hair is turning to snow. 

(Two girls appear at opposite side of stage.) 

My poor little girls, with their soft white 
hands, and their innocent eyes of blue, 

Turned adrift in the heartless world — what 
can and what will they do ? 

(Taking both his hands and still smiling, "Yes John, but it 
was an honest failure. ') 

' ' An honest failure ? ' ' Indeed it was ; 

dollar for dollar was paid ; 
Never a creditor suffered, whatever people 

have said. 
Better are rags and a conscience clear than 

a palace and flush of shame. 
One thing I shall leave to my children, 

Kate ; and that is an honest name. 

(''The boys have spoken to me John, they'll take right hold 
and help you.") 

What's that ? ' ' The boys are not troubled, 

they are ready now to begin 
And gain us another fortune, and work 

through thick and thin ? ' ' 
The noble fellows ! already I feel I haven't 

so much to bear ; 
Their courage has lightened my heavy load 

of misery and despair. 

("And the older girls say they will sacrifice, too ; they don't 
want those new dresses.") 

1 ' And the girls are so glad it was honest ; 
they'd rather not dress so fine, 

And think they did it with money that 
wasn't honestly mine ? ' ' 

They're ready to show what they're made 
of — quick to earn and to save — 

My blessed, good noble daughters ! so gen- 
erous and so brave ! 

("Then we have each other, John, and I'm a mighty help.") 

And you think we needn't fret, Kate, while 

we have each other left, 
No matter of what possessions our lives 

may be bereft ? 
You are right. With a quiet conscience, 

and a wife so good and true, 
I'll put my hand to the plough again ; and 

I know that we'll pull through. 

Wai/tkr CoivTON. 



THE RESOLVE OF REGULUS. 

Regulus, a Roman consul, having been defeated in battle and 
taken prisoner by the Carthaginians, was detained in captivity 
five years, and then sent on an embassy to Rome to solicit peace, 
under a promise that he would return to Carthage if the pro- 
posals were rejected These.it was thought, he would urge in 
order to obtain his own liberty ; but he urged contrary and 



patriotic measures on his countrymen ; and then, having carried 
his point, resisted the persuasions of his friends to remain in 
Rome, and returned to Carthage, where a martyr's death awaited 
him. Some writers say that he was thrust into a cask covered 
over on the inside with iron spikes, and thus rolled down hill. 
The following scene presents Regulus just as he has made known 
to his friends in Rome his resolution to return to Carthage. 

{Enter R^gjjt^vs , followed by Skrtorius.) 

SERTORIUS. Stay, Roman, in pity ! — if 
not for thy life, 

For the sake of thy country, thy chil- 
dren, thy wife. 
Sent, not to urge war, but to lead Rome to 

peace, 
Thy captors of Carthage vouchsafed thee 

release. 
Thou return 'st to encounter their anger, 

their rage ; — 
No mercy expect for thy fame or thy age ! 
Regulus. To my captors one pledge, and 

one only, I gave : 
To return, though it were to walk into 

my grave ! 
No hope I extended, no promise I made, 
Rome's Senate and people from war to 

dissuade. 
If the vengeance of Carthage be stored for 

me now, 
I have repead no dishonor, have broken 

no vow. 
Serf. They released thee, but dreamed not 

that thou wouldst fulfill 
A part that would leave thee a prisoner 

still ; 
They hoped thy own danger would lead 

thee to sway 
The councils of Rome a far different way ; 
Would induce thee to urge the conditions 

they crave, 
If only thy freedom, thy life-blood, to save. 
Thought shudders, the torment and woe to 

depict 
Thy merciless foes have the heart to inflict ! 
Remain with us, Regulus ! do not go back ! 
No hope sheds its ray on thy death-pointing 

track ! 
Keep faith with the faithless? The gods 

will forgive 
The balking of such. O, live, Regulus, 

live ! 
Reg. With the consciousness fixed in the 

core of my heart, 
That I had been playing the perjurer's part ? 
With the stain ever glaring, the thought 

ever nigh, 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



329 



That I owe the base breath I inhale to 

a lie? 
O, never ! Let Carthage infract every oath, 
Be false to her word and humanity both, 
Yet never will I in her infamy share, 
Or turn for a refuge to guilt from despair ! 
Sert. O, think of the kindred and friends 

who await 
To fall on thy neck, and withhold thee 

from fate ; 
O, think of the widow, the orphans to be, 
And let thy compassion plead softly 

with me. 
Reg. O, my friend, thou canst soften, but 

canst not subdue : 
To the faith of my soul I must ever be true. 
If my honor I cheapen, my conscience dis- 
crown, 
All the graces of life to the dust are brought 

down ; 
All creation to me is a chaos once more — 
No heaven to hope for, no God to adore ! 
And the love that I feel for wife, children 

and friend, 
Has lost all its beauty, and thwarted its end. 
Sert. Let thy country determine. 
Reg. My country ? Her will, 

Were I free to obey, would be paramount 

still. 
I go to my doom for my country alone ; 
My life is my country's ; my honor, my own ! 
Sert. O, Regulus ! think of the pangs in 

reserve ! 
Reg. What meance should make me from 

probity swerve ? 
Sert. Refinements of pain will these mis- 
creants find 
To daunt and disable the loftiest mind. 
Reg. And 't is to a Roman thy fears are 

addressed ! 
Sert. Forgive me. I know thy unterri- 

fied breast. 
Reg. Thou know'st me but human — as 

weak to sustain 
As thyself, or another, the searchings of 

pain. 
This flesh may recoil, and the anguish they 

wreak 
Chase the strength from my knees, and the 

hue from my cheek ; 
But the body alone they can vanquish 

and kill ; 
The spirit immortal shall smile at them still. 



Then let them make ready their engines of 
dread, 

Their spike-bristling cask, and their tortur- 
ing bed ; 

Still Regulus, heaving no recreant breath, 

Shall greet as a friend the deliverer Death ! 

Their cunning in torture and taunt shall 
defy 

And hold it a joy for his country to die. 

Sargent. 



A PAGEANT OF THE MONTHS. 

Personifications. 




Gentlemen. 




Ladies. 



Robin Redbreasts ; Lambs and Sheep ; Nightingale and 
Nestlings. 

Various Flowers, Fruits, etc. 

Scene : — A Cottage with its Grounds. 

(A room in a large, comfortable cottage ; a fire burning on the 
hearth ; a table on which the breakfast things have heen left stand- 
ing. January discovered seated at the fire.) 

January. 

Cold the day and cold the drifted snow, 
Dim the day until the cold dark night. 
\Stirs the fire. ~\ 
Crackle, sparkle, fagot; embers, glow: 
Some one may be plodding through the 

snow, 
Longing for a light, 
For the light that you and I can show. 
If no one else should come, 
Here Robin Redbreast's welcome to a crumb, 
And never troublesome : 
Robin, why don't you come and fetch your 
crumb ? 

Here's butter for my bunch of bread, 
And sugar for your crumb ; 

Here's room upon the hearth-rug, 
If you'll only come. 

In your scarlet waistcoat, 
With your keen bright eye, 

Where are you loitering ? 
Whings were made to fly ! 

Make haste to breakfast, 

Come and fetch your crumb, 

For I'm as glad to see you 
As you are glad to come. 



33Q 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



(Two Robin Redbreasts are seen tapping with their beaks at 
the lattice, which January opens. The birds flutter in, hop about 
the floor, and peck up the crumbs and sugar thrown to them. 
They have scarcely finished their meal, when a knock is heard at 
the door. January hangs a guard in front of the fire, and opens 
to February, who appears with a bunch of snowdrops in her 
hand.) 

January. 

Good-morrow, sister. 

February. 

Brother, joy to you ! 
I've brought some snowdrops ; only just a 

few, 
But quite enough to prove the world awake, 
Cheerful and hopeful in the frosty dew, 
And for the pale sun's sake. 

(She hands a few of her snowdrops to January, who retires 
into the background. While February stands arranging the 
remaining snowdrops in a glass of water on the window-sill, a 
soft butting and bleating are heard outside. She opens the door, 
and sees one foremost lamb, with other sheep and lambs bleating 
and crowding towards her.) 

February. 

O you, you little wonder, come — come in, 
You wonderful, you woolly, soft, white 

lamb : 
You panting mother ewe, come too, 
And lead that tottering twin 
Safe in : 

Bring all your bleating kith and kin, 
Except the horny ram. 

(February opens a second door in the background, and the 
little flock files through into a warm and sheltered compartment 
out of sight.) 

The lambkin tottering in its walk, 

With just a fleece to wear ; 
The snowdrop drooping on its stalk 

So slender, — 
Snowdrop and lamb, a pretty pair, 
Braving the cold for our delight, 

Both white, 

Both tender. 

( A rattling of door and windows ; branches seen without 
tossing violently to and fro.) 

How the doors rattle and the branches sway ! 
Here's brother March, comes whirling on 

his way, 
With winds that eddy and sing. 

(She turns the handle of the door, which bursts open, and 
discloses March hastening up, both hands full of violets and ane- 
mones.) 

FEBRUARY. 

Come, show me what you bring ; 

For I have said my say, fulfilled my day, 

And must away. 



MARCH. 
(Stopping short on the threshold.) 

I blow and arouse, 

Through the world's wide house, 
To quicken the torpid earth ; 

Grappling I fling 

Each feeble thing, 
But bring strong life to the birth. 

I wrestle and frown, 

And topple down ; 
I wrench, I rend, I uproot ; 

Yet the violet 

Is born where I set 
The sole of my flying foot. 

(Hands violets and anemones to February, who retires into 
the background.) 

And in my wake 

Frail wind-flowers quake, 
And the catkins promise fruit. 

I drive ocean ashore 

With rush and roar, 
And he cannot say me nay : 

My harpstrings all 

Are the forests tall, 
Making music when I play. 

And as others perforce, 

So I on my course 
Run and needs must run, 

With sap on the mount, 

And buds past count, 
And rivers and clouds and sun, 

With seasons and breath 

And time and death 
And all that has yet begun. 

(Before March has done speaking, a voice is heard approach- 
ing accompanied by a twittering of birds. April comes along 
singing, and stands outside and out of sight to finish her song.) 

APRII,. 

(Outside.) 

Pretty little three 
Sparrows in a tree, 

L,ight upon the wing ; 

Though you cannot sing, 

You can chirp of Spring ; 
Chirp of Spring to me, 
Sparrows, from your tree. 
Never mind the showers, 
Chirp about the flowers, 

While you build a nest ; 

Straws from east and west, 

Feathers from your breast, 
Make the snuggest bowers 
In a world of flowers. 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



33i 



You must dart away 
From the chosen spray, 

You intrusive third 

Extra little bird ; 

Join the unwedded herd ! 
These have done with play, 
And must work to-day. 

APRIL. 

(Appearing at the open door.) 

Good-morrow and good-bye ; if others fly, 
Of all the flying months you're the most 
flying. 

MARCH. 

You're hope and sweetness, April. 

APRIL. 

Birth means dying, 
As wings and wind mean flying ; 
So you and I and all things fly or die ; 
And sometimes I sit sighing to think of 

dying. 
But meanwhile I've a rainbow in my 

showers, 
And a lapful of flowers, 
And these dear nestlings, aged three hours ; 
And here's their mother sitting, 
Their father merely flitting 
To find their breakfast somewhere in my 

bowers. 

(As she speaks April shows March her apron full of flowers 
and nest full of birds. March wanders away into the grounds. 
April, without entering the cottage, hangs over the hungry nest- 
lings watching them.) 

APRIL. 

What beaks you have, you funny things, 

What voices, shrill and weak ; 
Who'd think anything that sings 

Could sing with such a beak ? 
Yet you'll be nightingales some day 

And charm the country-side, 
When I'm away and far away, 

And. May is queen and bride. 

(May arrives unperceived by April, and gives her a kiss. 
April starts and looks round.) 

APRIL. 

Ah, May, good-morrow, May, and so good- 
bye. 

MAY. 

That's just your way, sweet April, smile 

and sigh ; 
Your sorrows half in fun, 



Begun and done 

And turned to joy while twenty seconds 

run. 
At every step a flower 
Fed by your last bright shower,— 

(She divides an armful of all sorts of flowers with April, who 
strolls away through the garden.) 

MAY. 

And gathering flowers I listened to the song 
Of every bird in bower. 

The world and I are far too full of bliss, 
To think or plan or toil or care ; 
The sun is waxing strong, 
The days are waning long, 
And all that is, 
Is fair. 

Here are May buds of lily and of rose, 
And here's my namesake-blossom, 
May; 
And from a watery spot 
See here, forget-me-not, 
With all that blows 
To-day. 

Hark to my linnets from the hedges 
green, 
Blackbird and lark and thrush and 
dove, 
And every nightingale 
And cuckoo tells its tale, 
And all they mean 
Is love. 

(June appears at the further end of the garden, coming slowly 
towards May, who seeing her, exclaims:) 

MAY. 

Surely you're come too early, sister 
June. 

JUNK. 

Indeed I feel as if I came too soon 

To round your young May moon. 

And set the world a-gasping at my noon, 

Yet must I come. So here are strawberries, 

Sun-flushed and sweet, as many as you 

please ; 
And there are full-blown roses by the score, 
More roses and yet more. 

(May, eating strawberries, withdraws among the flower beds.) 
JUNK. 

The sun does all my long day's work for 
me, 



332 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



Raises and ripens everything ; 
I need but sit beneath a leafy tree 
And watch and sing. 

(Seats herself in the shadow of a laburnum.) 

Or if I'm lulled by note of bird and bee, 
Or lulled by noontide's silence deep, 

I need but nestle down beneath my tree 
And drop asleep. 

(June falls asleep ; and is not awakened by the \'oiceof July, 
who behind the scenes is heard half singing, half calling.) 

JULY. 
(Behind the scenes.) 

Blue flags, yellow flags, all freckled, 

Which wil! you take ? Yellow, blue, 
speckled ! 

Take which you will, speckled, blue, yel- 
low, 

Each in its way has not a fellow. 

(Enter July, a basket of many-colored irises swung upon his 
shoulders, a bunch of ripe grass in one hand, and a plate piled 
full of peaches balanced upon the other. He steals up to June 
and tickles her with the grass. She wakes.) 

JUNK. 

What, here already ? 

JULY. 

Nay, my tryst is kept ; 
The longest day slipped by you while you 

slept. 
I've brought you one curved pyramid of 

bloom, 

(Hands her the plate.) 

Not flowers, but peaches, gathered where 
the bees, 
As downy, bask and boom 
In sunshine and in gloom of trees. 
But get you in, a storm is at my heels ; 
The whirlwind whistles and wheels, 
Lightning flashes and thunder peals, 
Flying and following hard upon my heels. 

(June takes shelter in a thickly-woven arbor.) 
JULY. 

The roar of a storm sweeps up 

From the east to the lurid west, 
The darkening sky, like a cup, 

Is filled with rain to the brink ; 
The sky is purple and fire, 

Blackness and noise and unrest ; 
The earth, parched with desire, 

Opens her mouth to drink. 



Send forth thy thunder and fire, 

Turn over thy brimming cup, 
O sky, appease the desire 

Of earth in her parched unrest ; 
Pour out drink to her thirst, 

Her famishing life lift up ; 
Make thyself fair as at first, 

With a rainbow for thy crest. 

Have done with thunder and fire, 
O sky with the rainbow crest ; 

O earth, have done with desire, 
Drink, and drink deep, and rest. 

(Enter August, carrying a sheaf made up of different kinds of 
grain.) 

JULY. 

Hail, brother August, flushed and warm, 

And scathless from my storm. 

Your hands are full of corn, I see, 

As full as hands can be ; 

And earth and air both smell as sweet as 

balm 
In their recovered calm, 
And that they owe to me. 

(July retires into the shrubbery.) 
AUGUST. 

Wheat sways heavy, oats are airy, 

Barley bows a graceful head, 
Short and small shoots up canary, 

Bach of these is some one's bread ; 
Bread for man or bread for beast, 
Or at very least 
A bird's savory feast. 

Men are brethren of each other, 
One in flesh and one in food ; 
And a sort of foster brother, 
Is the litter, or the brood 
Of that folk in fur and feather, 
Who, with men together, 
Breast the wind and weather. 

(August descries September toiling across the lawn.) 

AUGUST. 

My harvest home is ended ; and I spy 

September drawing nigh 

With the first thought of Autumn in her 

eye, 
And the first sigh 
Of Autumn wind among her locks that fly. 

(September arrives, carrying upon her head a basket heaped 
high with fruit.) 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



333 



SKPTKMBKR. 

Unload me, brother. I have brought a few 
Plums and these pears for you, 
A dozen kinds of apples, one or two 
Melons, some figs all bursting through 
Their skins ; and pearled with dew 
These damsons, violet-blue. 

(While September is speaking, August lifts the basket to the 
ground, selects various fruits, and withdraws slowly along the 
gravel walk, eating a pear as he goes.) 

SKPTKMBKR. 

My song is half a sigh 
Because my green leaves die ; 
Sweet are my fruits, but all my leaves are 
dying ; 
And well may Autumn sigh, 
And well may I 
Who watch the sere leaves flying. 

My leaves that fade and fall, 

I note you one and all ; 
I call you, and the autumn wind is calling, 

Lamenting for your fall, 
And for the pall 
You spread on earth in falling, 

And here's a song of flowers to suit such 

hours : 
A song of the last lilies, the last flowers, 
Amid my withering bowers. 

In the sunny garden bed 

Lilies look so pale, 
Lilies droop the head 

In the shady, grassy vale ; 
If all alike they pine 
In shade and in shine, 
If everywhere they grieve, 
Where will lilies live ? 

(October enters briskly, some leafy twigs bearing different 
sorts of nuts in one hand, and a long, ripe hop-vine trailing after 
him from the other. A dahlia is stuck in his button-hole.) 

OCTOBKR- 

Nay, cheer up, sister. Life is not quite 

over, 
Even if the year has done with corn and 

clover, 
With flowers and leaves ; besides, in fact, 

it's true, 
Some leaves remain, and some flowers, too, 
For me and you. 
Now see my crops. 

[Offering his produce to September.] 
20 



I've brought you nuts and hops ; 
And when the leaf drops, why the walnut 
drops. 

(October wreathes the hop-vines about September's neck, and 
gives her the nut twigs. They enter the cottage together, but 
without shutting the door. She steps into the background; he 
advances to the hearth, removes the guard, stirs up the smoulder- 
ing fire, and arranges several chestnuts to roast.) 

OCTOBKR. 

Crack your first nut, light your first fire, 
Roast your chestnuts, crisp on the bar, 

Make the logs sparkle, stir the blaze 
higher ; 
Logs are as cheery as sun or as star, 
Logs we can find wherever we are. 

Spring, one soft day, will open the leaves, 
Spring, one bright day, will lure back the 
flowers ; 
Never fancy my whistling wind grieves, 
Never fancy I've tears in my showers ; 
Dance, nights and days! and dance on, 
my hours. 

[Sees November approaching.] 
OCTOBKR. 

Here comes my youngest sister, looking dim 

And grim, 

With dismal ways. 

What cheer, November ? 

NOVKMBKR. 

(Entering and shutting the door.) 

Nought have I to bring, 

Tramping a-chill and shivering, 

Except these pine cones for a blaze — 
Except a fog which follows, 
And stuffs up all the hollows, — 

Except a hoar frost here and there, — 
Except some shooting stars, 
Which dart their luminous cars, 

Trackless and noiseless through the keen 
night air. 

(October, shrugging his shoulders, withdraws into the back- 
ground, while November throws her pine cones on the fire and 
sits down listlessly.) 

NOVKMBKR. 

The earth lies fast asleep, grown tired 

Of all that's high or deep ; 
There's naught desired and naught required 

Save a sleep. 

I rock the cradle of the earth, 
I lull her with a sigh ; 



334 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



And know that she will wake to mirth 
By and bye. 

(Through the window December is seen running and leaping 
in the direction of the door. He knocks. ) 

NOVEMBER. 

(Calls out without rising.) 

Ah, here's my youngest brother come at 

last : 
Come in, December. 

(He opens the door and enters, loaded with evergreens in 
berry, etc.) 

Come in and shut the door, 
For now its snowing fast ; 
It snows, and will snow more and more ; 
Don't let it drift in on the floor. 
But you, you're all aglow ; how can you be 
Rosy and warm and smiling in the cold. 

DECEMBER. 

Nay, no closed doors for me, 

But open doors and open hearts and glee 

To welcome young and old. 

Dimmest and brightest month am I ; 
My short days end, my lengthening days 

begin ; 
What matters more or less sun in the sky, 

When all is sun within ? 

(He begins making a wreath as he sings.) 

Ivy and privet dark as night 

I weave with hips and haws a cheerful 
show, 
And holly for. a beauty and delight, 

And milky mistletoe. 

While high above them all I set 

Yew twigs and Christmas roses, pure and 
pale ; 
Then Spring her snowdrop and her violet 

May keep, so sweet and frail ; 

May keep each merry singing bird, 

Of all her happy birds that singing 
build ; 
For I've a carol which some shepherds 
heard 
Once in a wintry field. 

(While December concludes the song, all the other months 
troop in from the garden, or advance out of the background. 
J be twelve join hands in a circle, and begin dancing round to a 
stately measure as the curtain falls.) 

Christina G. Rossettt. 



UNCLE PETE. 

CHARACTERS. 

George Peyton, a Planter. 

Uncle Pete, a venerable darkey, looking the worse for wear, 

with more patches than pantaloons 
Scene. — Extcior view of a planter's cabin with practicable 

door. George Peyton discovered, seated on a bench, under 

veranda, reading a newspaper. 

Enter Uncle Pete, L.,* a limp noticeable in his left leg, the 
knee of which is bowed outward, hoe on his shoulder. 

UNCLE PETE. {Pausing as he enters, shad- 
ing his eyes with his hand, and gazing 
towards George Peyton.) Yes, darhe 
is ; dar is Marse George, a sittin' on the 
poarch, a-readin' his papah. Golly, I cotch 
um at home ! {Advancing and calling} 
Marse George, Marse George, I's come to 
see you once mo', once mo', befo' I leabes 
you fo' ebber. Marse George, I's gwine to 
de odder shoah ; I's far on de way to my 
long home, to dat home ober acrost de rib- 
ber, whar de wicked hab no mo' trouble, 
and where watermillions ripen all the year ! 
Youns has all bin berry kine to me heah, 
Marse George, berry kine to the ole man, 
but I's gwine away, acrost de dark ribber. 
I' s gwine ober, an' dar, on dat odder shoah, 
I'll stan' an' pick on de golden hawp among 
de angels, an' in de company of de blest. 
Dar I'll fine my rest ; dar I'll stan' befo' de 
throne fo 'ebber mo' a-singin' an' a-shoutin' 
susannis to de Lawd ! 

George Peyton. Oh, no, Uncle Pete, 
you're all right yet — you're good for 
another twenty years. 

Uncle P. Berry kine o' you to say dat, 
Marse George — berry kine — but it's no use. 
It almos' breaks my hawt to leab you, an' 
to leab de missus an' de chillun, Marse 
George, but I's got my call — I's all gone 
inside. 

George P. Don't talk so, Uncle Pete; 
you are still quite a hale old man . 

Uncle P. No use talkin', Marse George, 
I's gwine to hebben berry soon . ' Pears like 
I can heah the singin' on de odder shoah. 
'Pears like I can heah de voice ob " Aunt 
'Liza " an' de odders dat's gone befoah. 
You'se bin berry kine, Marse George — de 
missus an' de chillun 's bin berry good — 
seems like all de people's bin berry good to 
poor ole Pete — poor cretur like me. 



R. signifies right ; L. left ; and C. centre of stage. 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



335 



George P. Nonsense, Uncle Pete {kindly 
and e?icour aging ly) , nonsense, you are good 
for many years yet . You ' 11 see the sod placed 
on the graves of many j^ounger men than you 
are, before they dig the hole for you. What 
you want just now, Uncle Pete, is a good 
square meal. Go into the kitchen and help 
yourself — fill up inside. There is no one at 
home, but I think you know the road. 
Plenty of cold victuals of all kinds in there. 

Uncle P- {A smile illuminating his face?) 
'Bleedgedt'ye, Marse George, 'bleegedt'ye, 
sah, I'll go ! For de little time I has got 
to stay, I'll not go agin natur'; but it's no 
use. I's all gone inside — I's got my call. 
I'm one o' dem dat's on de way to de golden 
shoah. 

(Exit Uncle Pete through door, his limp 
hardly noticeable. His manyier showing his 
delight.} 

George P. Poor old Uncle Pete, he seems 
to be the victim of religious enthusiasm . I 
suppose he has been to camp-meeting, but 
he is a cunning old fox, and it must have 
taken a regular hard-shell sermon to convert 
the old sinner. He was raised on this plan- 
tation, and I have often heard my father 
say, he hadn't a better negro on the place. 
Ever since the war, he has been working a 
little, and loafing a good deal, and I have 
no doubt he sometimes sighs to be a slave 
again , at work on the old plantation . {Starts 
and listens.} 

Uncle P. {Singing i?iside :) 

Jay bird, jay bird, sittin' on a limb, 
He winked at me, an' I at him ; 
Cocked my gun, an' split his shin. 
An' left the arrow a-stickin'. 

George P. {Starting up.) Zounds ! if 
that old thief hasn't found my bitters bot- 
tle ! Pete ! Pete, you rascal ! 

Uncle P. { Continues singing :) 

Snake bake a hoe cake, 

An' set the frog to mind it ; 
But the frog fell asleep, 

An' the lizard come an' find it. 

George P. Pete ! you rascal, come out 
of that. 

Uncle P. { Who does not hear the planter, 
continues singing, and dances a gentle, old- 
fashioned shuffle . ) 

De debbil cotch the groun' hog 

A-sittin' in de sun, 
An' kick him off de back-log, 

Jes' to see de fun. 



George P. {Furious.) Pete ; you infernal 
nigger, come out of that, I say. 

Uncle P. {Still singing and dancing :) 

De 'possum up de gum tree, 

A-playin' wid his toes, 
An' up comes the ginny pig, 

Den off he goes. 

Geo?ge P. {Thoroughly aroused, throwing 
down his paper.) You, Pete ; blast the nig- 
ger. 

Uncle P. {Co?itinues singing :) 

De weasel went to see the polecat's wife, 
You nebber smelt such a row in a 1 yer — 

George P. {Rushes in the cabin > inter- 
rupts the singing, and drags Pete out by the 
ear.) Pete ! Pete, you infernal old rascal, 
is that the way you are crossing the river? 
Are those the songs they sing on the golden 
shore ? Is this the way for a man to act 
when he has got his call — when he is all 
gone inside ? 

U?icle P. {Looking as if he had been caught 
in a hen-roost.) Marse George. I's got de 
call, sah, an' I's gwine acrostde dark ribber 
soon, but I's now braced up a little on de 
inside, an' de 'scursion am postponed — you 
see, de 'scursion am postponed, sah ! 

George P. {Folding his arms, looking at 
Pete, as if in adi?iiration of his impude?ice.) 
The excursion is postponed, is it? Well, 
this excursion is not postponed, you old 
scoundrel. {Seizes Pete by the coat-collar 
and runs him off stage, L.) [Curtain.] 



Characters ; 



PATS EXCUSE. 

Nora, a young Irish lass, 
Pat Murphy, a gay deceiver. 



Curtain rises. — Discovers Nora in kitchen, peeling potatoes. 

Nora. Och, it's deceivin' that all men 
are ! Now I belaved Pat niver would for- 
sake me, and here he's trated me like an 
ould glove, and I'll ?iiver forgive him. How 
praties make your eyes water. ( Wipes tears 
away.) Almost as bad as onions. Not 
that I'm cryin'; oh, no. Pat Murphy can't 
see me cry. {Knock without.) There is 
Pat now, the rascal. I'll lock the door. 
{Hastens to lock the door.) 

Pat {without.) Arrah, Nora, and here I 
am. 

Nora. And there ye'll stay, ye spalpeen. 

Pat {without). Ah, come now, Nora, — 
ain't it opening the door you are after? 
Sure, I'm dyin' of cold. 



336 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



Nora. Faith, you are too hard a sinner 
to die aisy — so you can take your time 
about it. 

Pat. Open the door, cushla ; the police 
will be takin' me up. 

Nora. He won't kape you long, alanna ! 

Pat. Nora, if you let me in, I'll tell you 
how I came to lave you at the fair last 
night. 

Nora {relenting). Will you, for true? 

Pat. Indade I will. 

{Nora unlocks door. Enter Pat gayly. 
He snatches a kiss fro?7i her.) 

Nora. Be off wid ye ! Now tell me how 
you happened to be wid Mary O'Dwight 
last night ? 

Pat {sitting down). Well, you see it hap- 
pened this way; ye know Mike O'Dwight 
is her brother, and he and me is blatherin' 
good friends, ye know; and as we was 
going to Caltry the ither day, Mike says to 
me, says he: "Pat, what'll you take fur 
that dog? " and I says, says I — 

Nora {who has been listening earnestly). 
Bother you, Pat, but you are foolin' me 
again. 

Pat {coaxingly takes her hand). No- 
no — Nora — I'll tell ye the truth this time, 
sure. Well, as I was sayin', Mike and me 
is good friends; and Mike says, says he: 
" Pat, that's a good dog." " Yis," says I, 
"it is." And he says, says he: " Pat, it 
is a blatherin' good dog." " Yis," says I ; 
and then — and then — {Scratches his head as 
if to aid his imagination?) 

Nora {angrily snatclmig away hand). 
There ! I'll not listen to another word ! 

She singS. Tune— Rory O'Moore.) 

Oh, Patrick Murphy, be off wid you, pray, 
I been watching your pranks this many a day ; 
You're fal-e, and ye're fickle, as sure as I live 
And your hateful desaivin' I'll niver forgive. 
Ouch ! do you think I was blind yester night, 
When you walked so fine with Mary O'Dwight? 
You kissed her, you rascal, and called her your own, 
And left me to walk down the dark lane alone. 

Pal {taking up song). 

Oh. Nora, me darlint, be off wid your airs, 

For nobody wants you. and nobody cares ! 

For you do want your Patrick, for don't you see, 

"Sou could not so well love any but me. 

When my lips met Mi'-s Mary's, now just look at me, 

I shut my eyes tight, just this way, don't you see? 

And when the kiss came, what did I do? — 

I shut my eyes tight, and made believe it v/&s you .' 

Nora. 

Be off wid your nonsense — a word in your ear. 
Listen, my Patrick, be sure that you hear; 



Last night when Mike Duffy came here to woo. 
We sat in the dark, and made believe it was you — 
And when the kiss came, now just looh at me, — 
I shut my eyes tight, just this way, don't you see? 
And when our lips met, what did I do. 
But keep my eyes shut, and make belave it was you ! 

{Nora, laughing; Pat, disconcerted.) 
[quick curtain.] 



MARY STUART, QUEEN OF SCOTLAND. 

(Adapted from Schiller, Scene II., Act III. Arranged for two 
ladies and two gentlemen.) 

CHARACTERS : 

Mary, Queen of Scotland. 
Elizabeth, Queen of England. 
Robert, Earl of Leicester. 
Talbot, a friend of Mary^. 

Costumes. — Elizabethan age of England and Scotland. 
Enter Mary and Talbot. 

Mary. Talbot, Elizabeth will soon be 
here. I cannot see her. Preserve 
me from this hateful interview. 

Talbot. Reflect a while. Recall thy cour- 
age. The moment is come upon which 
everything depends. Incline thyself; sub- 
mit to the necessity of the moment. She is 
the stronger. Thou must bend before her. 

Mary. Before her ? I cannot ! 

Tal. Thou must do so. Speak to her 
humbly ; invoke the greatness of her gener- 
ous heart ; dwell not too much upon thy 
rights. But see first how she bears herself 
towards thee. I myself did witness her 
emotion on reading thy letter. The tears 
stood in her eyes. Her heart, 'tis sure, is 
not a stranger to compassion ; therefore place 
more confidence in her, and prepare thyself 
for her reception. 

Mary. {Taking his hand.) Thou wert 
ever my faithful friend. Oh, that I had al- 
ways remained beneath thy kind guardian- 
ship, Talbot ! Their care of me has indeed 
been harsh. Who attends her ? 

Tal. Leicester. You need not fear him ; 
the earl doth not seek thy fall. Behold, the 
queen approaches. {Retires?) 

Enter Elizabeth and Leicester. 

Ma?y. {Aside.) O Heavens ! Protect me ! 
her features say she has no heart ! 

Elizabeth. {To LEICESTER.) Who is this 
woman ? {Feig?iing surprise.) Robert who 
has dared to — 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



337 



Lei. Be not angry, queen, and since 
Heaven has hither directed thee, suffer pity 
to triumph in thy noble heart. 

Tal. {Advancing.') Deign, royal lady to 
cast a look of compassion on the unhappy 
woman who prostrates herself at thy feet. 

[Mary, having attempted to approach Elizabeth, stops 
short, overcome by repugnance, her gestures indicating internal 
struggle.] 

Eliz. {Haughtily .) Sirs, which of you 
spoke of humility and submission ? I see 
nothing but a proud lady, whom misfortune 
has not succeeded in subduing. 

Mary. {Aside.) I will undergo even this 
last degree of ignominy. My soul discards 
its noble but, alas ! impotent pride. I will 
seek to forget who I am, what I have suf- 
fered, and will humble myself before her 
who has caused my disgrace. {Turns to 
Elizabeth.) Heaven, O sister, has declared 
itself on thy side, and has graced thy happy 
head with the crown of victory. {Kneeling .) 
I worship the Deity who hath rendered thee 
so powerful. Show thyself noble in thy 
triumph, and leave me not overwhelmed by 
shame ! Open thy arms, extend in mercy 
to me thy royal hand, and raise me from my 
fearful fall. 

Eliz. {Drawing back.) Thy place, Stuart, 
is there, and I shall ever raise my hands in 
gratitude to Heaven that it has not willed 
that I should kneel at thy feet, as thou now 
crouchest in the dust at mine. 

Ma ry . ( With grea t emotion . ) Think of the 
vicissitudes of all things human ! There is 
a Deity above who punisheth pride. Respect 
the Providence who now doth prostrate me 
at thy feet. Do not show thyself insensible 
and pitiless as the rock, to which the drown- 
ing man, with failing breath and outstretched 
arms, doth cling. My life, my entire des- 
tiny, depend upon my words and the power 
of my tears. Inspire my heart, teach me to 
move, to touch thine own. Thou turnest 
such icy looks upon me, that my soul doth 
sink within me, my grief parches my lips, 
and a cold shudder renders my entreaties 
mute. {Rises.) 

Eliz. {Coldly.) What wouldst thou say 
to me ? thou didst seek converse with me. 
Forgetting that I am an outraged sovereign, 
I honor thee with my royal presence. 'Tis 
in obedience to a generous impulse that I in- 



cur the reproach of having sacrificed my 
dignity. 

Mary. How can I express myself? how 
shall I so choose every word that it may 
penetrate , without irritating , thy heart ? God 
of mercy ! aid my lips, and banish from them 
whatever may offend my sister ! I cannot 
relate to thee my woes without appearing to 
accuse thee, and this is not my wish. To- 
wards me thou has been neither merciful nor 
just. I am thine equal, and yet thou hast 
made me a prisoner, a suppliant, and a fugi- 
tive. I turned to thee for aid, and thou, 
trampling on the rights of nations and of 
hospitality, hast immured me in a living 
tomb ! Thou has abandoned me to the most 
shameful need, and finally exposed me to 
the ignominy of a trial ! But, no more of 
the past ; we are now face to face. Display 
the goodness of thy heart ! tell me the crimes 
of which I am accused ! Wherefore didst 
thou not grant me this friendly audience 
when I so eagerly desired it ? Years of 
misery would have been spared me, and this 
painful interview would not have occurred 
in this abode of gloom and horror. 

Eliz. Accuse not fate, but thine own way- 
ward soul and the unreasonable ambition of 
thy house. There was no quarrel between 
us until thy most worthy ally inspired thee 
with the mad and rash desire to claim for 
thyself the royal titles and my throne ! Not 
satisfied with this, he then urged thee to 
make war against me, to threaten my crown 
and my life. Amidst the peace which 
reigned in my dominions, he fraudulently 
excited my subjects to revolt. But 
Heaven doth protect me, and the attempt 
was abandoned in despair. The blow was 
aimed at my head, but 'tis on thine that it 
will fall. 

Mary. I am in the hand of my God, but 
thou wilt not exceed thy power by commit- 
ting a deed so atrocious ? 

Eliz. What could prevent me ? Thy kins- 
man has shown monarchs how to make 
peace with their enemies ! Who would be 
surety for thee if, imprudently, I were to re- 
lease thee ? How can I rely on thy pledged 
faith ? Nought but my power renders me 
secure. No! there can be no friendship with 
a race of vipers. 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



Mary. Are these thy dark suspicions ? 
To thine eyes, then, I have ever seemed a 
stranger and an enemy. If thou hadst but 
recognized me as heiress to thy throne — as 
is my lawful right — love, friendship, would 
have made me thy friend — thy sister. 

Eliz. What affection hast thou that is 
not feigned ? I declare thee heiress to my 
throne ! Insidious treachery ! In order, 
forsooth, to overturn the state, and — wily 
Armida that thou art — entrap within thy 
snares all the youthful spirits of my king- 
dom, so that during my own lifetime all eyes 
would turn towards thee — the new constel- 
lation ! 

Mary. Reign on in peace ! I renounce 
all right to thy sceptre. The wings of my 
ambition have long drooped, and greatness 
has no longer charms for me. 'Tis thou 
who hast it all ; I am now only the shade 
of Mary Stuart ! My pristine ardor has been 
subdued by the ignominy of my chains. 
Thou hast nipped my existence in the bud. 
But pronounce those magnanimous words 
for which thou cam'st hither ; for I will not 
believe that thou art come to enjoy the 
base delight of insulting thy victim ! Pro- 
nounce the words so longed for, and say, 
" Mary, thou art free ! Till now thou hast 
known only my power ; now know my great- 
ness." Woe to thee, shouldst thou not de- 
part from me propitious, beneficent, like an 
invoked Deity. O sister ! not for all Eng- 
land, not for all the lands the vast ocean 
embraces, would I present myself to thee 
with the inexorable aspect with which thou 
now regard est me ! 

Eliz. At length thou confessest thyself 
vanquished ! Hast thou emptied thy quiver 
of the artifices it contained ? Hast thou no 
more assassins ? Does there not remain to 
thee one single hero to undertake in thy de- 
fence the duties of knight-errant ? Gone, 
Mary, gone forever are those days. Thou 
canst no longer seduce a follower of mine ; 
other causes now inflame men's hearts. In 
vain didst thou seek a fourth husband among 
my English subjects; they knew too well 
that thou murderest thy husbands, as thou 
dost thy lovers. 

Mary. (Shuddering.) O Heavens ! sister ! 
Grant me resignation. 

Eliz. (To Leicester, with contempt.) 



Earl, are these the boasted features, on which 
no mortal eye could gaze with safety ? Is this 
the beauty to which no other woman's could 
be compared ? In sooth, the reputation ap- 
pears to have been easily won. To be thus 
celebrated as the reigning beauty of the uni- 
verse seems merely to infer that she has 
been universal in the distribution of her 
favors. 

Mary. Ah, 'tis too much. 

Eliz. ( With a smile of satisfaction.) Now 
thou showest thyself in thine own form. Till 
now thou hast worn a mask. 

Mary. (With dignified pride .) They were 
mere human errors that overcame my youth. 
My grandeur dazzled me. I have nought to 
conceal, nor deny my faults ; my pride has 
ever disdained the base artifices of vile in- 
triguers. The worst I ever did is known, 
and I may boast myself far better than my 
reputation. But woe to thee, thou malig- 
nant hypocrite, if thou ever lettest fall the 
mantle beneath which thou concealest thy 
shameless amours ! Thou, the daughter of 
Anne Boleyn, has not inherited virtue ! The 
causes that brought thy sinful mother to the 
block are known to all. 

Tal. (Stepping between them?) Is this, O 
Mary, thine endurance ? Is this thy hu- 
mility ? 

Mary. Endurance ? I have endured all 
that a mortal heart can bear. Hence, abject 
humility ! Insulted patience, get ye from 
my heart ! And thou, my long pent-up in- 
dignation, break thy bonds, and burst forth 
from thy lair ! Oh, thou gavest to the angry 
serpent his deadly glance ; arm my tongue 
with poisonous stings. 

Tal. (To Elizabeth.) Forgive the an- 
gry transports which thou hast thyself pro- 
voked. 

Lei. (Induci?ig Elizabeth to withdraw.) 
Hear not the ravings of a distracted woman. 
Leave this ill — 

Mary. The throne of England is profaned 
by a base-born — the British nation is duped 
by a vile pretender ! If right did prevail, 
thou wouldst be grovelling at my feet, for 
'tis I who am thy sovereign. (Elizabeth 
retires. LEICESTER and Talbot follow.) 
She departs, burning with rage, and with 
bitterness of death at heart. Now happy 
I am ! I have degraded her in Leicester's 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



339 



presence. At last ! At last ! After long 
years of insult and contumely, I have at 
least enjoyed a season of triumph. {Sinks 
upon the floor. 

[CURTAIN.] SCHIUvER. 



TABIvKAU. 

(Curtain rises. Mary reclines upon the floor, disheveled 
hair, face buried in hands, shaking with emotion. Elizabeth 
stands glaring at her, face livid with anger, clenched fists. Lei- 
cester is restraining her ; his hand is raised as if admonishing 
her not to yield to her rage and do an act unbecoming a queen. 
Talbct leans over Mary, to whom he appears to offer words of 
hope and consolation, at the same time lifting his right hand im- 
ploringly to Elizabeth. 



FROM THE PEASANT BOY. 

Characters ; Alberti, Julian, Montaldi, Stefano, Ludovico, 
Ambrose, Vincent, Guards, Etc. 

(Enter Guards, conducting Julian — all the characters follow- 
ing, and a crowd of vassals — Alberti advances to the judgment 
seat.) 

ALBBRTi. My people ! — the cause of 
your present assemblage too well is 
known to you. You come to witness 
the dispensations of an awful but impartial 
justice; — either to rejoice in the acquittal 
of innocence wrongfully accused, or to 
approve the conviction of guilt, arrested in 
its foul career. Personal feelings forbid me 
to assume this seat myself ; yet fear not but 
that it will be filled by nobleness and honor ; 
to Montaldi only, I resign it. 

Julian. He my judge ! then I am lost 
indeed. {Aside .) 

Alb. Ascend the seat, my friend, and 
decide from it as your own virtuous con- 
science shall direct ; this only will I say ; 
should the scales of accusation and defense 
poise doubtfully, let mercy touch them with 
her downy hand, and turn the balance on 
the gentler side. 

Montaldi. {Ascending the seat.) Your 
will and honor are my only governors ! 
{Bows.) Julian ! stand forth ! you are 
charged with a most foul and horrible 
attempt upon the life of my noble kins- 
man — the implements of murder have been 
found in your possession, and many power- 
ful circumstances combine to fix the guilt 
upon you. What have you to urge in 
vidication, 

Jul. First, I swear by that Power, whom 
vice dreads and virtue reverences, that no 
syllable but strictest truth shall pass my 



lips. On the evening of yesterday, I 
crossed the mountain to the monastery or 
St. Bertrand ; my errand thither finished, I 
returned directly to the valley. Rosalie 
saw me enter the cottage — soon afterward a 
strange outcry recalled me to the door ; a 
mantle spread before the threshold caught 
my eye ; I raised it, and discovered a mask 
within it. The mantle was newly stained 
with blood ! Consternation seized upon my 
soul — the next minute I was surrounded by 
guards, and accused of murder. They pro- 
duced a weapon I had lost in defending 
myself against a ferocious animal. Con- 
founded by terror and surprise, I had not 
power to explain the truth, and loaded with 
chains and reproaches, I was dragged to 
the dungeons of the castle. Here my 
knowledge of the dark transaction ends, 
and I have only this to add — I may become 
the victim of circumstances, but I never 
have been the slave of crime ! 

Mon. {Smiling ironically?) Plausibly 
urged ; have you no more to offer ? 

Jul. Truth needs but few words — I have 
spoken ! 

Mon. Yet bethink yourself — dare you 
abide by this wild tale, and brave a sentence 
on no stronger plea ? 

Jul. Alas ! I have none else to offer ! 

Mon. You say on the evening of yester- 
day, you visited the monastery of St. Bert- 
rand. What was your business there ? 

Jul. With father Nicolo — to engage him 
to marry Rosalie and myself on the follow- 
ing morning. 

Mon. A marriage, too! Well! — at 
what time did you quit the monastery ? 

Jul. The bell for vesper- service had just 
ceased to toll. 

Mon. By what path did you return to 
the valley ? 

Jul. Across the mountain. 

Mon. Did you not pass through the 
wood of olives, where the dark deed was 
attempted ? 

Jul. {Recollecting.) The wood of olives. 

Mon. Ha! mark! he hesitates — speak! 

Jul. No ! my soul scorns to tell a false- 
hood. I did pass through the wood of 
olives . 

Mon . Ay ! and pursuit was close behind . 
Stefano., you seized the prisoner ? 



34° 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



Stefano. I did. The bloody weapon 
bore his name ', the mask and mantle were 
in his hands, confusion in his countenance, 
and every limb shaking with alarm. 

Mon. Enough! Heavens! that villany 
so monstrous should inhabit with such 
tender youth ! I fain would doubt, and ia 
despite of reason, hesitate to give my sen- 
tence ; but conviction glares from every 
point, and incredulity would now be mad- 
ness. Not to descant on the absurdity of 
your defense, a tale too wild for romance 
itself to sanction, I find from your admis- 
sion a damning chain of circumstance that 
confirms your crimmality. The time at 
which you passed the wood, and the hour 
of the duke's attack, precisely correspond. 
Your attachment to Rosalie presents the 
motive of your offense ; burning with 
impatient love, knowing vanity to sway 
the soul of woman, and trusting to win its 
influence by the bribes of luxury, you 
sought to rush on fortune by the readiest 
path, and snatch from the unwary traveler 
that sudden wealth which honest labor 
could only by slow degrees obtain. De- 
feated in the dark attempt, you fled — pur- 
suit was instant — your steps were traced — 
and at the very door of your cottage, you 
were seized before the evidences of your 
guilt could be secreted. Oh ! wretched 
youth, I warn you to confess. Sincerity 
can be your only claim to mercy. 

Jul. My heart will burst — But I have 
spoken truth ; yes — Heaven knows that I 
have spoken truth ! 

Mon. Then I must exercise my duty. 
Death is my sentence, 

Jul. Hold ! — pronounce it not as yet ! 

Mon. If you have any further evidence, 
produce it. 

Jul. ( With despairing e?iergy.) I call on 
Ludovico. 

(Ludovico steps forward with alacrity — Mo?i- 
taldi recoils with visible trepidation.} 

Ludovico. I am here ! 

Mon. And what can he unfold? only 
repeat that which we already know. I will 
not hear him — the evidence is perfect 

Alb. (Rising with warmth^) Hold! Mon- 
taldi, Ludovico must be heard ; to the ear 
of justice, the lightest syllable of proof is 
precious. 



Mon. {Confused.) I stand rebuked. Well, 
Ludovico, depose your evidence. 

Lud. Mine was the fortunate arm ap- 
pointed by Heaven to rescue the duke. I 
fought with the assassin, and drove him 
beyond the trees into the open lawn. I 
there distinctly marked his figure, and from 
the difierence in the height alone, I solemnly 
aver Julian cannot be the person. 

Mon. This is no proof — the eye might 
easily be deceived. I cannot withhold my 
sentence longer. 

Lud. I have further matter to advance. 
Just before the ruffian fled, he received a 
wound across his right hand ; the moon- 
light directed my blow, and showed me 
that the cut was deep and dangerous. Juli- 
an's fingers bear no such mark. 

Mon. (Evincing great emotion and invo- 
hmtarily drawing his glove closer over his 
hand.) A wound — mere fable 

Lud. Nay, more — the same blow struck 
from off one of the assassin's fingers, a 
jewel ; it glittered as it fell ; I snatched it 
from the grass — I thrust it within my bosom, 
and have ever since preserved it next my 
heart ; I now produce it — 'tis here — a ring 
— an amethyst set with brilliants ! 

Alb. (Rising hastily^) What say you ? 
an amethyst set with brilliants ! even such 
I gave to Montaldi. Let me view it ! 

(As Ludovico advances to present the ring 
to the duke, Montaldi rushes ivith frantic 
impetuosity between, and atte?npts to seize it.) 

Mon. Slave ! resign the ring ! 

Lud. I will yield my life sooner ! 

Mon. Wretch ! I will rend thy frame to 
atoms ! (They struggle with violence, Mon- 
taldi snatches at the ring, Luodvico catches 
his hand and tears off the glove — the wound 
appears^) 

Lud. Oh ! God ! murder is unmasked — 
• the bloody mark is here ! Montaldi is the 
assassin. (All rush forward in astonish- 
ment — Juliayi drops upo?i his k?iees in 7nute 
thanksgiving . ) 

Mon. Shame! madness! 

Alb. Eternal Providence ! Montaldi a 
murderer ! 

Mon. Ay ! accuse, and curse ! idiots ! 
dupes ! I heed you not. I can but die ! 
Triumph not, Alberti — I trample on thee 
Still ! (Draws a poignard and attempts to 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



34i 



destroy himself- — the weapon is wrested from 
his hand by the guards .) 

Alb. Fiend ! thy power to sin is past. 

Mon. {Delirious with passion.') Ha ! ha ! 
ha ! my brain scorches, and my veins 
run with fire ! disgraced, dishonored ! oh ! 
madness ! I cannot bear it — save me — oh ! 
{Falls insensible into the arms of attendants .) 

Alb. Wretched man ! bear him to his 
chamber — his punishment be hereafter. 
(Montaldi is carried off.) 

Jul. Oh ! my joy is too full for words ! 

Ambrose. My noble boy ! 

Vincent. Rosalie shall reward him. 

Alb. Yes, they are children of virtue ! 
Their happiness shall be my future care. 
Let this day, through each returning year, 
become a festival on my domain. Heaven, 
with peculiar favor, has marked it for its 
own, and taught us, by the simple moral of 
this hour, that howsoever in darkness guilt 
may veil its malefactions from the eye of 
man, an omniscient Judge will penetrate 
each hidden sin, and still, with never-fail- 
ing justice, confound the vicious and pro- 
tect the good ! 



Jul. 



Alb. 



The peasant boy, redeemed from fate, 

Must here for mercy sue, 
He dares not trust decrees of state, 

Till ratified by you. 

Then gentles ! prithee grant our prayer, 

Nor cloud the dawning joy, 
" Not guilty ! " by your hands declare, 
And save the peasant boy ! 



FROM QUSTAVUS VASA. 

Characteis; Gustavus, Anderson, Arnoldus, Officers, Dale- 
carlians. 

Dai^kcaexians. Let us all see him ! 
Gustavus. Amazement, I perceive, 
hath filled your hearts, 
And joy for that your lost Gustavus 'scaped 
Through wounds, imprisonments, and 

chains and deaths, 
Thus sudden, thus unlooked for, stands 

before ye. 
As one escaped from cruel hands I come, 
From hearts that ne'er knew pity, dark and 

vengeful ; 
Who quaff the tears of orphans, bathe in 

blood, 
And know no music but the groans of 

Sweden. 



Yet, not because my sister's early inno- 
cence — 

My mother's age now grind beneath cap- 
tivity ; 

Nor that one bloody, one remorseless hour 

Swept my great sire and kindred from my 
side ; 

For them, Gustavus weeps not. 

But, O great parent, when I think on thee ! 

Thy numberless, thy nameless, shameful 
infamies, 

My widowed country ! Sweden ! when I 
think 

Upon thy desolation, spite of rage — 

And vengeance that would choke them — 
tears will flow. 
Anderson. Oh, they are villains, every 
Dane of them. 

Practiced to stab and smile; to stab the 
babe, 

That smiles upon them. 

Arnoldus. What accursed hours 

Roll o'er those wretches, who, to fiends like 
these 

In their dear liberty have bartered more 

Than worlds will rate for ? 

Gust. Oh, liberty, Heaven's choice pre- 
rogative ! 

True bond of law, thou social soul of pro- 
perty, 

Thou breath of reason, life of life itself? 

For thee the valiant bleed. Oh, sacred 
liberty ? 

Winged from the summer's snare, from 
flattering ruin, 

Like the bold stork you seek the wintry 
shore, 

Leave courts, and pomps, and palaces to 
slaves, 

Cleave to the cold and rest upon the storm. 

Upborne by thee, my soul disdained the 
terms 

Of empire offered at the hand of tyrants. 

With thee I sought this favorite soil ; with 
thee 

These favorite sons I sought ; thy sons, O 
Liberty ! 

For even amid the wilds of life you lead 
them, 

Lift their low-raftered cottage to the clouds, 

Smile o'er their heaths, and from their 
mountain tops 

Beam glory to the nations. 



342 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



All. Liberty ! Liberty ! 

Gust. Are ye not marked, ye men of 

Dalecarlia, 
Are ye not marked by all the circling world 
As the great stake, the last effort for liberty ? 
Say, is it not your wealth, the thirst, the 

food, 
The scope and bright ambition of your 

souls ? 
Why else have you, and your renowned 

forefathers, 
From the proud summit cf their glittering 

thrones, 
Cast down the mightiest of your lawful 

kings, 
That dared the bold infringement ? What 

but liberty, 
Through the famed course of thirteen hun- 
dred years, 
Aloof hath held invasion from your hills, 
And sanctified their shade ? And will ye, 

will ye 
Shrink from the hopes of the expecting 

world ; 
Bid your high honors stoop to foreign 

insult, 
And in one hour give up to infamy 
The harvest of a thousand years of glory ? 
First Dale. No ! 
Second Dale. Never, never ! 
Third Dale. Perish all first ! 
Fourth Dale. Die all ! 
Gust. Yes, die by piecemeal ! 
Leave not a limb o'er which a Dane may 

triumph. 
Now from my soul I joy, I joy, my friends, 
To see ye feared ; to see, that even your 

foes 
Do justice to your valor ! There they be, 
The powers of kingdoms, summoned in 

yonder host, 
Yet kept aloof, yet trembling to assail ye. 
And oh, when I look round and see you 

here, 
Of number short, but prevalent in virtue, 
My heart swells high, and burns for the 

encounter. 
True courage but from opposition grows, 
And what are fifty, what a thousand slaves, 
Matched to the sinew of a single arm 
That strikes for liberty, that strikes to save 
His fields from fire, his infants from the 

sword, 



And his large honors from eternal infamy ? 

What doubt we then ? 

Shall we, shall we stand here, 

Till motives that might warm an ague's 
frost, 

And nerve the coward's arm, shall poorly 
serve 

To wake us to resistance ? Let us on ! 

Oh, yes, I read your lovely fierce impa- 
tience ; 

You shall not be withheld, we will rush on 
them — 

This is indeed to triumph, where we hold 

Three kingdoms in our toil ! is it not glor- 
ious, 

Thus to appall the bold, meet force with 
fury, 

And push yon torrent back, till every wave 

Flee to its fountain ? 

And. On, lead us on, Gustavus ; one 
word more 

Is but delay of conquest. 
Gust. Take your wish. 

He who wants arms, may grapple with the 
foe, 

And so be furnished. You, most noble 
Anderson, 

Divide our powers, and with the famed 
Olaus 

Take the left route. You, Eric, great in 
arms ! 

With the renowned Neberbi, hold the right. 

And skirt the forest down ; then wheel at 
once, 

Confessed to view, and close upon the 
vale; 

Myself, and my most valiant cousin here, 

The invincible Arvida, gallant Sivard, 

Arnoldus, and these hundred hardy vet- 
erans, 

Will pour directly forth, and lead the 
onset. 

Joy> joy> I see confessed from every eye, 

Your limbs tread vigorous, and your breasts 
beat high ! 

Thin though our ranks, though scanty be 
our bands, 

Bold are our hearts, and nervous are our 
hands. 

With. us, truth, justice, fame, and freedom 
close, 

Each singly equal to a host of foes. 

{Exit. ; Gust leading.) 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



343 



LOCHIEL'S WARNING. 

Thic piece is frequently recited by one person, but is much 
more effective in dialogue. Lochiel, a Highland chieftain, 
while on his march to join the Pretender, is met by one of the 
Highland seers, or prophets, who warns him to return, and not 
incur the certain ruin and disaster which await the unfortunate 
prince and his followers on the field of Culloden. When used as 
a dialogue, a blast of trumpet is heard. The curtain being 
drawn, Lochiel enters, attired in the Highland fighting costume, 
and following him should appear in the doorway of the stage two 
or three armed Scotch soldiers to give the idea of a large number 
behind them. The Seek meets him from the other direction, 
dressed in flowingrobes, and wiih long white hair and beard, and, 
raising his hands in the attitude of warning, speaks imploringly 
as f llows : 

Seer. 

Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day 
When the lowlands shall meet thee in 
battle array ! 
For a field of the dead rushes red on my 

sight, 
And the clans of Culloden are scattered in 

flight ; 
They rally, they bleed, for their country 

and crown, — 
Woe, woe to the riders that trample them 

down ! 
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the 

slain, 
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod the 

plain. 
But, hark ! through the fast-flashing light- 
ning of war, 
What steed to the desert flies frantic and 

far? 
'Tis thine, O Glenullin ! whose bride shall 

await, 
Like a love- lighted watch-fire, all night at 

the gate. 
A steed comes at morning : no rider is 

there ; 
But its bridle is red with the sign of 

despair ! 
Weep, Albin ! to death and captivity led ! 
O ! weep ! but thy tears cannot number the 

dead ! 
For a merciless sword on Culloden shall 

wave — 
Ciilloden, that reeks with the blood of the 

brave ! 

L.OCHIEL. 
Go preach to the coward, thou death- telling 

seer ! 
Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, 
Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering 

sight, 
This mantle, to cover the phantoms of 

fright ! 



Seer. 

Ha ! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to 

scorn ? 
Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume 

shall be torn ! 
Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth, 
From his home in the dark-rolling clouds of 

the North ? 
Lo ! the death-shot of foemen out-speeding, 

he rode 
Companionless, bearing destruction abroad: 
But down let him stoop from his havoc on 

high! 
Ah ! home let him speed, for the spoiler is 

nigh. 
Why flames the far summit ? Why shoot 

to the blast 
Those embers, like stars from the firmament 

cast? 
'Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully 

driven 
From his eyry, that beacons the darkess of 

Heaven. 
O, crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might, 
Whose banners arise on the battlements' 

height, 
Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and 

to burn ; 
Return to thy dwelling ! all lonely return ! 
For the blackness of ashes shall mark where 

it stood, 
And a wild mother scream o'er her famish- 
ing brood ! 

Lochiel. 

False Wizard, avaunt ! I have marshalled 

my clan : 
Their swords are a thousand ; their bosoms 

are one ; 
They are true to the last of their blood, and 

their breath, 
And like reapers, descend to the harvest of 

death. ' 
Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to 

the shock ! 
Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on 

the rock ! 
But woe to his kindred, and woe to his 

cause, 
When Albin her claymore indignantly 

draws ; 
When her bonneted chieftains to victory 

crowd. 



344 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



Clanronald the dauntless, and Moray the 

proud ; 
All plaided, and plumed in their tartan 

array — 

Seer. 

Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day ! 

For, dark and despairing, my sight I may 

seal, 
Yet man cannot cover what God would 

reveal ; 
'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, 
And coming events cast their shadows 

before. 
I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall 

ring 
With the bloodhounds that bark for thy 

fugitive king. 
Lo ! anointed by Heaven with vials of 

wrath, 
Behold where he flies on his desolate path ! 
Now in darkness, and billows, he sweeps 

fr.om my sight : 
Rise ! Rise ! ye wild tempests, and cover 

his flight ! 
'Tis finished. — Their thunders are hushed 

on the moors ; 
Culloden is lost, and my country deplores. 
But where is the iron-bound prisoner ! 

Where ? 
For the red eye of battle is shut in despai 
Say, mounts he the ocean- wave, banished, 

forlorn, 
Like a limb from his country, cast bleeding, 

and torn ? 
Ah ! no ; for a darker departure is near ; 
The war-drum is muffled, and black is the 

bier ; 
His death-bell is tolling ; oh ! mercy, dis- 
pel 
Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell ! 
Life flutters, convulsed in his quivering 

limbs, 
And his blood-streaming nostril in agony 

swims. 
Accursed be the fagots that blaze at his feet, 
Where his heart shall be thrown ere it ceases 

to beat, 
With the smoke of its ashes to poison the 

gale— 

LOCHIEL. 

Down, soothless insulter ! I trust not the 
tale ; 



For never shall Albin a destiny meet 

So black with dishonor — so foul with rer 

treat. 
Tho' his perishing ranks should be strowed 

in their gore, 
Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten 

shore, 
Lochiel, untainted by night, or by chains, 
While the kindling of life in his bosom re- 
mains, 
Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, 
With his back to the field and his feet to the 

foe! 
And leaving in battle no blot on his name, 
Looks proudly to Heaven from the death- 
bed of fame. 



C>ESAR'S MESSAGE TO CATO, 

{Dialogue between Decius and Cato.) 

DECius. Caesar sends health to Cato. 
Cato. Could he send it 
To Cato's slaughtered friends, it 
would be welcome. 
Are not your orders to address the Senate ? 
Dec. My business is with Cato, Caesar 
sees 
The straits to which you're driven ; and, as 

he knows 
Cato's high worth, is anxious for your life. 
Cato. My life is grafted on the fate of 
Rome. 
Would he save Cato ? Bid him spare his 

country. 
Tell your dictator this : and tell him, Cato 
Disdains a life which he has power to offer. 
Dec. Rome and her senators submit to 
Caesar ; 
Her generals and her consuls are no more, 
Who checked his conquests and denied his 

triumphs. 
Why will not Cato be this Caesar's friend ? 
Cato. Those very reasons thou hast urged 

forbid it. 
Dec. Cato, I've orders to expostulate, 
And reason with you, as from friend to 

friend. 
Think on the storm that gathers o'er your 

head, 
And threatens every hour to burst upon it ; 
Still may you stand high in your country's 
honors ; 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



345 



Do but comply and make your peace with 

Caesar, 
Rome will rejoice, and cast its eyes on Cato, 
As on the second of mankind. 

Cato. No more ; 
I must not think of life on such conditions. 
Dec. Caesar is well acquainted with your 
virtues, 
And therefore sets this value on your life : 
Let him but know the price of Cato's friend- 
ship, 
And name your terms. 

Cato. Bid him disband his legions, 
Restore the commonwealth to liberty, 
Submit his actions to the public censure, 
And stand the judgment of a Roman Senate ; 
Bid him do this, and Cato is his friend. 
Dec. Cato, the world talks loudly of your 

wisdom — 
Cato. Nay, more, — though Cato's voice 
was ne'er employed 
To clear the guilty, and to varnish crimes, 
Myself will mount the Rostrum in his favor, 
And strive to gain his pardon from the peo- 
ple. 
Dec. A style like this becomes a con- 
queror. 
Cato. Decius, a style like this becomes a 

Roman. 
Dec. What is a Roman, that is Caesar's 

foe? 
Cato. Greater than Caesar, he's a friend 

to virtue. 
Dec. Consider, Cato, you're in Utica, 
And at the head of your own little Senate ; 
You don't now thunder in the Capitol, 
With all the mouths of Rome to second 
you. 
Cato . Let him consider that who drives us 
hither ; 
'Tis Caesar's sword has made Rome's Senate 

little, 
And thinned its ranks. Alas ! thy dazzled 

eye 
Beholds this man in a false glaring light, 
Which conquest and success have thrown 

upon him ; 
Didst thou but view him right, thou 'dst see 

him black 
With murder, treason, sacrilege, and — 

crimes 
That strike my soul with horror but to name 
them. 



I know thou look'st on me as on a wretch, 
Beset with ills and covered with misfor- 
tunes ; 
But, as I love my country, millions of 

worlds 
Should never buy me to be like that Caesar. 
Dec. Does Cato send this answer back to 

Caesar, 
For all his generous cares and proffered 

friendship ? 
Cato. His cares for me are insolent and 

vain : 
Presumptuous man ! the gods take care of 

Cato. 
Would Caesar show the greatness of his 

soul, 
Bid him employ his care for these my 

friends, 
And make good use of his ill-gotten power, 
By sheltering men much better than himself. 

Addison. 



A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN. 

Characters and Costumes. 

Reader — Lady or gentleman, who stands in front and to one 
side of curtain, read poem, as though relating a dream. 

Helen of Tkoy — White, purely Grecian, straight garment, 
slightly bloused at waist, caught at shoulder with large but- 
ton ; skirt, which hangs straight, may be trimmed with Gre- 
cian border of narrow gold braid ; three bands of white rib- 
bon round hair, which is knotted at back, well off neck ; san- 
dals. 

Iphigenia — Also white Grecian, long, loose robe falling in grace- 
ful folds from left shoulder ; trimmed piece that drapes from 
shoulder, with light blue or silver braid; hair knot at back ; 
sandals. 

Cleopatra — Shimmering satin or silk gown, angel sleeves ; as 
much gold lace and brilliant jewelry as possible — armlets, 
bracelets, necklace, rings, girdle and crown ; large fan of pea- 
cock feathers. 

Jephthah's Daughter — Long robe of rich red material, arm- 
lets, bracelets, and timbrel (tambourine can be substituted); 
long dark hair, hanging. 

Rosamond — Twelfth-century costume — pointed waist, high col- 
lar, large full slee\es, tight at wrist, pointed lace cuffs and 
collar; jeweled girdle. 

Queen El:-:anok — Long trained robe of purple or black velvet, 
trimmed with white fur, over petticoat of white satin ; crown, 
dagger, cup of poison. 

Sir Thomas Moore's Daughter — Black velvet gown, plain 
long - skirt, pointed bodice ; long light hair, hanging. 

Joan of Arc — Short red skirt ; shield, helmet, sword, and 
gauntlets. 

Queen Elinor — Soft white dress ; auburn hair, hanging. 

Scene — A woodland scene, if possible ; otherwise, hang green 
curtain across back of stage, so as to ; ive background ot 
dark green folds. Stretch diagonally across left corner ot 
stage a smaller curtain, hiding bower. 

Reader (before closed curtains) . 

I read, before my eyelids dropt their 
shade, 
" The Lege?id of Good Women," long 
ago 



34^ 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



Sung by the morning star of song, who Ranges of glimmering vaults with iron 

made grates, 

His music heard below. And hushed seraglios. 

Dan Chaucer, the first warbler, whose sweet So shape chased shape as swift as when to 



breath 
Preluded those melodius bursts that fill 
The spacious times of great Elizabeth 
With sounds that echo still. 

And, for awhile, the knowledge of his art 
Held me above the subject, as strong 
gales 
Hold swollen clouds from raining, tho' my 
heart 
Brimfull of those wild tales, 

Charged both mine eyes with tears. In 
every land 

I saw, wherever light illumineth, 
Beauty and anguish walking hand in hand, 

The downward slope to death. 

Those far-renowned brides of ancient song 
Peopled the hollow dark, like burning 
stars, 
And I heard sounds of insult, shame, and 
wrong, 
And trumpets blown for wars ; 

And clattering flints battered with clanging 
hoofs ; 
And I saw crowds in columned sanctua- 
ries ; 
And forms that pass at windows and on 
roofs 
Of marble palaces ; 

Corpses across the threshold ; heroes tall, 
Dislodging pinnacle and parapet 

Upon the tortoise creeping to the wall. 
Lances in ambush set : 



land 
Bluster the winds and tides the self-same 

way ; 
Crisp foam-flakes scud along the level sand, 
Torn from the fringe of spray. 

I started once, or seemed to start, in pain, 
Resolved on noble things, and strove to 
speak, 
As when a great thought strikes along the 
brain 
And flushes ail the cheek. 

And once my arm was lifted to hew down ' 
A cavalier from off his saddle bow 

That bore a lady from a leagured town ; 
And then, I know not how, 

All those sharp fancies, by down-lapsing 
thought 
Streamed downward, lost their edges, 
and did creep, 

Rolled on each other, rounded, smoothed 
and brought 
Into the gulfs of sleep. 

At last methought that I had wandered 

(Curtain withdrawn disclosing woodland scene.) 

Far in an old wood, fresh- washed in cool- 
est dew, 
The maiden splendors of the morning star 
shook 

In the steadfast blue. 

Enormous elm-tree boles did stoop and lean 
Upon the dusky brushwood underneath, 

Their broad curved branches, fledged with 
clearest green, 
New from its silken sheath. 



And high shrine-doors burst thro' with 
heated blasts 
That run before the fluttering tongues of The dim red moon had died, her journey 

done, 
And with dead lips smiled at the twilight 
plain , 
Half fall 'n across the threshold of the sun, 
Never to rise again. 

There was no motion in the dumb, dead 
air, 
Not any song of bird or sound of rill ; 



fire, 
White-surf wind scattered over sails and 
masts, 
And ever climbing higher. 

Squadrons and squares of men in brazen 
plates, 
Scaffolds, still sheets of water, divers 
woes, 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



347 



Gross darkness of the inner sepulchre 
Is not so deadly still 

As that wide forest. Growths of jasmine 
turned 
Their hurried arms, festooning tree to tree, 
And at the root thro' lush green grasses 
burned 
The red anemone. 

I knew the flowers, I knew the leaves, I 
knew 
The tearful glimmer of the languid dawn 
On those long, rank, dark wood- walks 
drenched dew, 
Reading from lawn to lawn. 

The smell of violets hidden in the green 
Poured back into the empty soul and 
frame 

The times when I remembered to have been 
Joyful and free from blame. 

And from within a clear undertone 
Thrilled thro' mine ears in that unbliss- 
ful clime, 

Cleopatra (within , ) 

" Pass freely thro', the wood is all thine 
own ; 
Until the end of time. ' ' 

Reader. 

At length I saw (Helen of Troy enters back 

entra,7ice ; advance slowly to middle of stage ; 

stand in statuesque attitude) a lady within 

call 

Stiller than chiselled marble, standing 
there ; 
A daughter of the gods, divinely tall 

And most divinely fair. 
Her lovliness with shame and with surprise 

Froze my swift speech ; she turning on 
my face 
The starlight sorrows of immortal eyes 

Spoke slowly in her place. 

HEEEN oe Troy — (turning and speaki?ig 

slowly) 
I had great beauty ; ask thou not my name ; 

No one can be more wise than destiny. 
Many drew swords and died. Where'er I 
came 
I brought calamity. 



Reader. 

No marvel, sovereign lady ; in fair field 
Myself for such a face had boldly died. 

(Enter trom left entiance Iphigenia as she advances to from 
Helen .etires to back of stage.) 

And turning I appeared to one who stood 

beside. 
But she with sick and scornful looks averse 
To her full height her stately stature 

draws : 

Iphigenia (with bitterness.) 
My youth was blasted with a curse ; 

(Pointing to Heien). 

This woman was the cause. 

I was cut off from hope in that sad place, 
Which yet to name my spirit loathes and 
fears ; 

My father held his hand upon his face ; 
I, blinded by my tears, 

Still strove to speak ; my voice was thick 
with sighs 
As in a dream, dimly I would descry 
The stern black-bearded kings with wolfish 
eyes, 
Waiting to see me die. 

The high masts flickered as they lay afloat ; 
The crowds, the temples, wavered, and 
the shore ; 
The bright death quivered at the victim's 
throat ; 
Touched — and I knew no more. 

Helen oe Troy (sadly, with bowed head, 
leaving stage off 'right.) 

I would the white, cold, heavy plunging 

foam, 
Whirled by the wind, had rolled me deep 

below, 
Then when I left my home. (Exit JL., 

Iph igen ia following . ) 

Reader. 

Her slow full words sank on the silence 

drear 
As thunder drops fall on a sleeping sea 
Sudden I heard a voice 



34* 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



(Inner curtain withdraws, discovering Cleopatra half reclining on 
crimson couch, under bower of green.) 

Cleopatra. 

"Ha, ha! come here that I may look on 
thee. 

(Rising on arm and looking at reader — again reclining.) 

Ha ! ha ! ha ! / govern men by change 
And so I swayed all words. {Sighing .) 

'Tis long since I have seen a man. 
Once, like the moon, I made 



The ever-shifting currents of the blood 
According to my humor ebb and flow. 

I have no men to govern in this mood : 
That makes my only woe. 

Nay, yet it chafes me that I could not bend 
One will ; nor tame and tutor with mine 
eye 
That dull, cold-blooded Caesar. Pr'ythee, 
friend, (Liaising on elbow.) 
Where is Mark Antony ? 

The man, my lover, with whom I rode 
sublime 
On Fortune's neck : we sat as God by 
God: 
The Nilus would have risen before this time 
And flooded at our nod. 

We drank the Libyan sun to sleep, and lit 
Lamps that outburned Canopus. O my 
life 

In Egypt ! O the dalliance and the wit, 
The flattery and the strife, 

And the wild kiss, when fresh from war's 
alarms 

My Hercules, my Roman Antony, 
My mailed Bacchus leapt into my arms, 

Content there to die ! 

And there he died : and when I heard my 
name 
Sighed forth with life I would not brook 
my fear 
Of the other : with a worm I balked his 
fame, 
What else was left ? 

I died a Queen. The Roman soldier found 



Me lying dead, my crown about my 
brows, — 
A name forever — lying robed and crowned, — 
Worthy a Roman spouse. 

(Sinks back on couch, and small curtain is drawn, hiding her 
from view.) 

Reader 

Her warbling voice, a lyre of widest range 
Struck by all passion, did fall down and 
glance 
From tone to tone among and thro' all 
change 
Of liveliest utterance. 

When she made pause I knew not for de- 
light, < 
Because with sudden motion from the 
ground 
She raised her piercing orbs, and filled with 
light 
The interval of sound. 

Slowly my sense undazzled. Then I heard 

(Soft music.) 

A noise of some one coming thro' the 
lawn, 
And singing clearer than the crested bird 
That claps his wings at dawn. 

(Soft music continues, growing louder.) 

As one that museth where broad sunshine 
laves 
The lawn by some cathedral, thro' the 
door 
Hearing the holy organ rolling waves 
Of sound on roof and floor within, 

And anthem sung, is charmed and tied 
To where he stands — so stood I , when that 
flow 
Of music left the lips {Enter Jephthah' 's 
Daughter, walking slowly with up- 
lifted face — ) of her that died 
To save her father's vow : 

The daughter of the warrior Gileadite, 
A maiden pure, as when she went along 

From Mizpah's towered gates with welcome 
light 
With timbrel and with song. 

My words leapt forth : ' ' Heaven heads the 

count of crimes 
With that wild oath." 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



349 



Jkphthah's Daughter. 

" Not so, nor once alone : a 

Thousand times I would be born and die. 

My God, my land, my father — these did 

move me 
From my bliss of life which nature gave, 
Lowered softly by a three-fold cord of love 
Down to a silent grave. 

The light while clouds swam over us. 

Anon we heard the lion roaring in his 
den ; 
We saw the large white stars rise one by 
one. 
Or, from the dark'ned glen, 

Saw God divide the night with flying flame 
And thunder on the everlasting hills. 

I heard Him, for He spake, and grief be- 
came 
A solemn scorn of ills. 

When the next moon was rolled into the 
sky, 
Strength came to me that equaled my de- 
sire, 
How beautiful a thing it was to die for God 
and 
For my sire. 

It comforts me in this one thought to dwell, 
That I subdued me to my father's will ; 

Because the kiss he gave me, ere I fell 
Sweetens the spirit still." 

(Exit, sing " Glory to God," repeating several times.) 

Reader. 

How her face glowed ! 

Losing her carol, I stood, pensively, 

As one that from a casement leans his 
head 
When midnight bells cease ringing sud- 
denly, 
And the old year — is dead. 

(Enter Rosamond from back during reading of last sentence.) 

Rosamond. 

Alas ! Alas ! 

Turn and look on me, I am 
That Rosamond, whom men call fair, 

If what I was I be. 

Would I had been some maiden, coarse and 
poor. 

21 



O me ! that I should ever see the light ! 

(Enter Queen Eleanor at right, with cup of poison in one hand, 
dagger in the other, both of which she offers Rosamond with a 
look of scorn.) 

(Recoiling from Eleanor.) 

Those dragon eyes of angered Eleanor 
Do hurt me day and night. 

(Small curtain withdraws disclosing Cleopatra.) 

Cleopatra to Rosamond. 

O ! you tamely died ! 

You should have clung to Fulvia's waist 
And trust the dagger thro' her side. 

(Tableau. Cleopatra looking contemptuously at Rosamond, who 
is frightened and seeks to escape ; small curtains closes.) 

Reader. 

With that sharp sound the white dawn's 
creeping beams 
Stol'n to my brain, dissolved the mystery 
Of folded sleep. The captain of my dreams 

Ruled in the eastern sky. 
Moon broadened on the borders of the dark 
Kre I saw {curtains drawn disclosing Sir 
Thomas Moore's daughter holding up 
dress, as if to catch the fallen head — ■ 
face expressing deepest a?iguish) her 
who clasped in her last trance. 
Her murdered father's head, or (enter 
foan of Arc from back; as she enters, 
draws sword, raises shield, and re??iains 
posed thus) Joan of Arc, the light 
Of ancient France. 

Or her {inner curtain withdrawn, disclosing 
Queen Elinor kneeling beside Edward) 
who knew that Love can vanquish 
Death, 
Who kneeling, with one arm about her 
king, 
Drew forth the poison with her balmy 
breath, 
Sweet as new buds in spring. 

(Curtain closed.) 

Reader. 
No memory labors longer from the deep 
Gold mines of thought to lift the hidden 
ore 
That glimses, moving up, than I from sleep 
To gather and tell o'er. 

Each little sight and sound, with what dull 
pain 
Compassed, how eagerly I sought to 
Strike 



350 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



Into that wondrous track of dreams again, 
But no two dreams are like. 

As when a soul laments, which hath been 
blest, 

Desiring what is mingled with past years 
In yearnings that can never be expressed, 

In sighs or groans or tears. 

Because all words, tho' culled with choicest 
art, 

Failing to give the bitter of the sweet, 
Wither beneath the palate, and the heart 

Faints, faded by its heat. 

(Tableau. All the characters in appropriate attitude.) 

NOTE. — All movements should he. gliding 
and noiseless. 



COURTSHIP UNDER DIFFICULTIES. 

For two Males and one Female. 

(This maybe made almost equally successful as a reading. ) 

Enter Snobbeeton. 

SnobbeETON. {Looking in the direction 
whence he has just come.) Yes, here is 
that fellow Jones, again. I declare, the 
man is ubiquitous. Wherever I go with my 
cousin Prudence we stumble across him, or 
he follows her like a shadow. Do we take 
a boating ? So does Jones. Do we wander 
on the beach? So does Jones. Go where 
we will, that fellow follows or moves be- 
fore. Now, that was a cruel practical joke 
which Jones once played upon me at col- 
lege. I have never forgiven him. But I 
would gladly make a pretense of doing so, 
if I could have my revenge. Let me see. 
Can't I manage it? He is head over ears in 
love with Prudence, but too bashful to 
speak. I half believe she is not indifferent 
to him, though altogether unacquainted. It 
may prove a match, if I can not spoil it. 
Let me think. Ha ! I have it ! A brilliant 
idea! Jones, beware! But here he comes. 

Enter Jones. 

Jones. {Not seeing Sncbbleton, and de- 
lightedly contemplating a flower, which he 
holds in his hand.) Oh, rapture ! what a 
prize ! It was in her hair — I saw it fall from 
her queenly head. {Kisses it every now and 
then.) How warm are its tender leaves from 



having touched her neck ! How doubly 
sweet is its perfume — fresh from the fra- 
grance of her glorious locks ! How beauti- 
ful ! how — Bless me ! here is Snobbleton. 
We are enemies ! 

Snobbleton. {Advancing with an air oj 
frankness.) Good morning, Jones — that is, 
if you will shake hands. 

Jones. What!— you forgive! You 
really — 

Snobbleton. Yes, yes, old- fellow ! All is 
forgotten. You played me a rough trick; 
but let bygones be bygones. Will you not 
bury the hatchet ! 

Jones. With all my heart, my dear fel- 
low. {They shake hands.) 

Snobbleton. What is the matter with you, 
Jones ? You look quite grumpy — not by 
any means the same cheerful, dashing, rol- 
licking fellow you were. 

Jones. Grumpy — what is that? How do 
I look, Snobbleton ? 

Snobbleton. Oh, not much out of the way. 
Only a little shaky in the shanks, blue lips, 
red nose, cadaverous jaws, bloodshot eyes, 
yellow — 

Jones. {Aghast.) Bless me, you don't 
say so. {Aside.) Confound the man ! Here 
have I been endeavoring to appear romantic 
for the last month — and now to be called 
shaky-shanked, cadaverous — it is unbear- 
able. 

Snobbleton. But never mind. Cheer up, 
old fellow! I see it all. Egad ! I know 
what it is to be in — 

Jones. Ah ! You can then sympathize 
with me ! You know what it is to be in — 
Snobbleto?i. Of course I do! Heaven pre- 
serve me from the toils ! What days of bit- 
terness ! 

Jo?ies. What nights of bliss. 

Snobbleton. {Shuddering?) And then 
the letters — the interminable letters. 

Jones. {With rapture). Oh, yes, the let- 
ters 1 The billet doux ! 

Snobbleton. And the bills — the endless 
bills ! 

Jones {hi surprise?) The bills ! 

Snobbleton. Yes ; and the bailiffs, the 
lawyers, the judge, and the jury. 

Jones. Why, man, what are you talking 
about ? I thought you said you knew what 
it was to be in— 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



35i 



Snobbleton. In debt. To be sure I did. 

Jones. Bless me ! I'm not in debt — never 
borrowed a dollar in my life. Ah, me ! 
{sighs) it's worse than that. 

Snobbleton. Worse than that ! Come, 
now, Jones, there is only one thing worse. 
You're surely not in love ? 

Jones. Yes, I am. {With sudden Jeeling .) 
Oh, Snobby, help me, help me ! Let me 
confide in you. 

Snobbleton. {With mock emotion .) Con- 
fide in me ! Certainly, my dear fellow ! See ! 
I do not shrink — I stand firm. {Folds his 
arms in a determiyied posture. ,) Blaze away ! 

Jones. Snobby, I — I love her ! 

Snobbleto?i. Whom? 

Jones. Your cousin, Prudence. 

Snobbleton. Ha ! Prudence Angelina 
Wintefbottom ? 

Jones. Now, don't be angry, Snobby ! 
I don't mean any harm, you know. I — I — 
you know how it is. 

S?iobbleton. Harm ! my dear fellow. Not 
a bit of it. Angry ! Not at all. You have 
my consent, old fellow. Take her. She is 
yours. Heaven bless you both ! 

Jones. You are very kind, Snobby, but I 
haven't got her consent yet. 

Snobbleton. Well, that is something, to 
be sure. But, leave it all to me. She may 
be a little coy, you know ; but, considering 
your generous overlooking of her unfortu- 
nate defect — 

Jones. Defect ! You surprise me. 
Snobbleton. What ! and you did not know 
of it? 

Jones. Not at all. I am astonished ! 
Nothing serious, I hope. 

Snobbleton. Oh, no, only a little — {He 
taps his ear with his finger, knowingly .) I 
see you understand it. 

Jones. Merciful Heaven ! can it be ? But, 
really is it serious ? 

Snobbleton. I should think it was. 

Jones. What ! But is she ever danger- 
ous ? 

Snobbleton. Dangerous ! Why should 
she be ? 

Jones. {Considerably relieved) Oh, I per- 
ceive ! A mere airiness of brain — a gentle 
aberration — scorning the dull world — a 
mild — 

Snobbleton. Zounds, man, she's not crazy ! 



Jones. My dear Snobby, you relieve me. 
What then ? 

Sjiobbleton. Slightly deaf. That's all. 

Jones. Deaf! 

Snobbleton. As a lamp -post. That is, 
you must elevate your voice to a consider- 
able pitch in speaking to her. 

Jones. Is it possible ! However, I think 
I can manage. As, for instance, if it was 
my intention to make her a floral offering, 
and I should say {elevating his voice con- 
siderably), <f Miss, will you make me happy 
by accepting these flowers ? " I suppose 
she could hear me, eh? How would that 
do? 

Snobbleton. Pshaw ! Do you call that 
elevated ? 

Jones. Well, how would this do? 
{Speaks very loudly?) " Miss, will you 
make me happy — " 

Snobbleton. Louder, shriller, man ! 

Jones. " Miss, will you — ' ' 

Snobbleton. Louder, louder, or she will 
only see your lips move. 

Jones. {Almost sc? r eaming) "Miss, will 
you oblige me by accepting these flowers ? " 

Snobbleton. There, that may do. Still 
you want practice. I perceive the lady 
herself is approaching. Suppose you retire 
for a short time, and I will prepare her for 
the introduction. 

Jo?ies. Very good. Meantime, I will go 
down to the beach and endeavor to acquire 
the proper pitch. Let me see : " Miss, will 
you oblige me — " {Exit Jones , still speak- 
ing.) 

(Enter Prudence, from other side.) 

Prudence. Good morning, cousin. Who 
was that, speaking so loudly ? 

Snobbleton. Only Jones. Poor fellow, 
he is so deaf that I suppose he fancies his 
own voice to be a mere whisper. 

Prudence. Why, I was not aware of 
this. Is he very deaf? 

Snobbleton. Deaf as a stone fence. To 
be sure, he does not use an ear-trumpet any 
more, but, one must speak excessively 
high. Unfortunate, too, for I believe he is 
in love. 

Prudence. { With some emotio?i) In love ! 
with whom ? 

Snobbleton. Can't you guess ? 



352 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



Pruaence. Oh, no ; I haven't the slight- 
est idea. 

Snobblcton. With yourself ! He has been 
begging me to obtain him an introduction. 

Prudence. Well, I have always thought 
him a nice-looking young man. I suppose 
lie would hear me if I should say {speaks 
loudly), " Good-morning, Mr. Jones ! " 

Snobblcton. {Compassionately) Do you 
think he would hear that f 

Prudence. Well, then, how would {speaks 
very loudly 1 ) " Good-morning, Mr. Jones! " 
How would that do ? 

Snobblcton. Tush ! he would think you 
were speaking under your breath. 

Pi'udence. {Almost screaming) " Good- 
morning ! " 

Snobbleton. A mere whisper, my dear 
cousin. But here he comes. Now, do try 
and make yourself audible. 

Enter jones . 

Snobbleton. {Speaking in a high voice.) 
Mr. Jones, cousin, Miss Winterbottom, 
Jones. You will please excuse me for a 
short time. {He retires, but ?'e??iai?is in 
view.) 

Jones. {Speaking shrill and loud, and 
offering some flowers .) Miss, will you accept 
these flowers ? I plucked them from their 
slumber on the hill. 

Prudence. {In an equally high voice.) 
Really, sir, I — I — 

Jones. {Aside) She hesitates. It must 
be that she does not hear me. {Increasi?ig 
his tone.') Miss, will you accept these flow- 
ers— flowers ? I plucked them sleeping 
on the hill — hill. 

Prudence. {Also increasing herto?ie.) Cer- 
tainly, Mr. Jones. They are beautiful— 
beau-u-tiful 

Jones. {Aside.) How she screams in my 
ear. (Aloud.) Yes, I plucked them from 
their slumber— slumber, on the hill— hill. 

Prudence. {Aside.) Poor man, what an 
effort it seems to him to speak. {Aloud.) 
I perceive you are poetical. Are you fond 
of poetry? (Aside.) He hesitates. I must 
speak louder. (In a scream.) Poetry — 
poetry— POETRY ! 

Jones. (Aside.) Bless me, the woman 
would wake the dead! {Alo?cd.) Yes, 
Miss, I ad-o-r-e it. 



Snobbleton. {Solus Jrom behind, rubbing 
his hands?) Glorious ! glorious ! I won- 
der how loud they can scream. Oh, venge- 
ance, thou art sweet J . 

Prudence. Can you repeat some poetry 
— Poetry ? 

Jones. I only know one poem. It is 
this : 

You'd scarce expect one of my age — Age, 
To speak in public on the stage — Stage. 

Prudence. {Putting her lips to his ear 
and shouti?ig) Bravo — bravo ! 

Jones. {In the same way.) Thank you ! 
Thank — 

Prudence. {Putting her hands over her 
ears.) Mercy on us ! Do you think I'm 
DEAF, sir ? 

Jones. {Also stopping his ears?) And do 
you fancy me deaf, Miss ? 

(They now speak in their natural tones.) 

Prude?ice. Are you not, sir ? You sur- 
prise me ! 

Jones. No, Miss. I was led to believe 
that you were deaf. Snobbleton told me so. 

Prudence. Snobbleton ! Why he told 
me that y ou were deaf. 

Jo?ies. Confound the fellow ! he has been 
making game of us. Here he is. {Perceiv- 
ing Snobbleton.) You shall answer for this, 
sir ! 

Prudence. Yes, sir, you shall answer for 
this, sir ! 

Snobbleton. {Advancing .) Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
And to whom must I answer ? 

Jones. {They hum to the audience?) To 
these, our friends, whose ears are split. 

Snobbleton. Well then, the answer must 
be brief. 

Prude?ice. {To Jones.) But they, our 
friends, are making it. 

Jones. I hear them, Miss. I am not 
deaf. 

Curtain Falls. 



GOIN' SOMEWHERE. 

Characters and Costumes. 

Old Woman— Dark dress, old fashioned dolman or shawl, old 

fashioned bonnet, lace mitts, bird-cage and band-box ; palm 

leaf fan. 
Old Man— Old fashioned frock coat, high collar, black cravat, 

white tall hat, carpet-sack, extra wrap thrown over arm, also 

a bundle. 
Scene— Interior of railway car. Two or three seats occupied by 

passengers. 




MR. GILLETTE AND KATHERINE FLORENCE IN "SHERLOCK HOLMES 




A GROUP FROM THE PLAY "SHENANDOAH 

Examples of Ea-e and Grace in Acting 



1353) 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



355 



Kntkr Old Man, followed by Old 
Woman. 

OLD man. Come along, Mary ; why any- 
body 'd think I'd never been nowheres. 
Haint I spoke in town meetin' twict ? 
an' been a hundred miles on a steamboat, an' 
got a brother 'at made the overland trip to 
Californy ? 

Old Woman, (taking seat i?i front.) An' 
haint /been to funerals an' quiltin's 'n sich ? 
but la suz, Philetus ! they haint nothin' to 
goin' from Posey Keounty to Chicago on 
the covered cars ; tho' I know a woman that 
thinks nothin' o' settin' out on a railroad 
journey where she has to wait fifteen min- 
utes at a junction an' change cars at a 
dapot. But, Philetus {looking around anx- 
iously), I b'lieve we've went an' tooken the 
wrong train. 

Old M. (startled.) It can't be, nohow. 
Didn't I ask the conductor, an' he saidwe's 
all right ? 

Old W. Yes, he did ; but look out of 
the winder an' make sure ; he might 'a been 
a lyin' to us. 

Old M. (looks out as if at window?) I 
guess we're all right, Mary. 

Old W. (whispering.) Ask somebody — 
ask that man there. 

Old M. (to gentleman reading paper be- 
hind.) This hyr's the train for Chicago, 
ain't it ? 

Gent. This is the train, sir. 

Old M. There ! didn't I tell you ? 

[Chuckling .~\ 

Old W. (folding hands?) It may be — it 
may be ! but if we're carried wrong, it 
won't be my fault. I say that we're wrong ; 
and when we've been led into some pirates' 
cave and butchered for our money, ye '11 wish 
ye had heeded my words. 

Entkr Conductor. 

Co?iductor. " Tickets, please ! " 

Old M. (searching every pocket, emptying 
all sorts of things from one pocket?) Mary, 
what do you s'pose has become of them 
tickets ? 

Old W. (searching carpet- sack.) Well, 
if it don't beat all — the way you forgit 
things. 

Old M. (finding tickets finally in his hat 
wrapped up i?i a huge red bandana.) Q ! 



here they are. I put 'em in my hat so I'd 
know right where they was. (Conductor dis- 
appears with tickets after having collectea from 
all other passengers .) Looks like rain over 
thar in the west. I hope the boys '11 git 
them oats in. 

Old W. That reminds me of the um- 
berel. (Searching among the luggage for it 
a?id not finding it.) It's gone. 

Old M. (startled?) W-what ? 

Old W. That umbereller ! 

Old M. No ! 

Old W. Gone— hide and hair ! That 
sky-blue umberel that I've had ever since 
Marthy died ? 

Old M. (searching.) Wall, that's queer. 

Old W. Queer ! not a bit. I've talked 
to you and talked to you, but it does no 
good ; you come from a heedless family ; 
you'd forgit to put your boots on if I didn't 
tell ye to. 

Old M. (in cutting tone?) None of the 
Harrisons was ever in the poorhouse. 

Old W. Philetus ! Philetus H . Harrison ! 
(laying hand on his arm) don't you dare 
twit me of that again ! I've lived with you 
nigh onto forty year, and waited on you 
when you had the biles, and the toothache 
and the colic, and when you fell and broke 
your leg ; but don't you push me up to the 
wall ! (After a pause?) My ! but I'm dret- 
ful thursty. I'm glad I fetched that bottle 
of cold tea (searching among the luggage not 
finding it straightens up and whispers), and 
that's gone, too ! 

Old M, What now ? 

Old IV. It's been stole ! (Looking round 
at other passengers gasping .) First the um- 
bereller — then the bottle ! 

Old M. I couldn't hev left it, could I ? 

Old TV. For land sake ! don't ask me ! 
That bottle has been in our family twenty 
years — ever since mother died — and now it's 
gone ! Land only knows what I'll do for a 
camfire bottle when we get home — if we 
ever do . 

Old M. I'll buy you one. 

Old W. Yes, I know ye are always ready 
to buy; an' if it wasn't for me to restrain 
you, the money' d fly like feathers in the 
wind. 

Old M. Wall, I didn't have to mortgage 
my farm. ( With a knowing look.) 



356 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



Old W. Twitting agin ? It isn't enough 
that you' ve lost a good umbereller and a cam- 
fire bottle ; but you must twit me of this 
and that. {Weeps.) 

Old M. {looks sorry — after a pause — to 
man across the aisled) What's the sile around 
here ? 

Old W. Philetus ! PhiletusH. Harrison! 
stop your noise ! {Poking him with her 
elbow.) 

Old M. I just asked a question. 

Old W. What'd your brother Joab tell 
ye, the last thing afore we left him ? Didn't 
he say somebody 'd swindle ye on the string 
game, or the confidence game, or some 
other kind of game? Didn't he warn ye 
agin rascals ? 

Old M. I haint seen no rascals. 

Old IV. Of course ye hain't, cause yer 
blind ! I know that that man's a villin ; an' 
if they don't arrest him for murder before 
we leave this train I'll miss my guess. / 
can read human natur' like a book. {Pause 
— sigh.) I wish I knew that this was the 
train fur Chicago. 

Old M. Course it is. 

Old W. How do you know ? 

Old M. 'Cause it is. 

Old W. Well, I know it hain't ; but if 
you are content to rush along to destruction, 
I shan't say a word. Only when your throat 
is bein' cut, don't call out that I didn't 
warn you ! 

Enter " Pkanut Boy." 

Peanut Boy. — Nice fresh peanuts ! pea- 
nuts ! peanuts ! 

Old W. {seeing O.M. reach in pocket for 
wallet.) Philetus, you shan't squander that 
money after peanuts ! 

(Waving the boy on with one hand, and holding O. M.'s arm 
with other.) 

Old M. Didn't I earn it? 

Old W. Humph ! you sold two cows to 
come on this visit, and the money's half 
gone now ; no telling how we git home 1 
(Sighing deeply.) I wish't I hadn't a-come. 
{Old M. looks at ceiling, then out at window, 
and tries to produce a smile?) I know very 
well what you want to say, but it's a blessed 
good thing for you that I did come. If you 
had come alone, you'd have been murdered, 
and gashed and scalped, and sunk into the 
river afore now ! 



Old M. Pooh ! 

Old W. Yes, pooh ! if you want too ; 
but I know ! 

(He leans back, she settles herself with a sigh, and his arm rests 
on the back of the seat. He nods, and she nods, and leans 
her head on his shoulder. She breathes heavily, he snores 
audibly. The curtain falls.) 



LOVE IN THE KITCHEN. 

CHARACTERS AND COSTUMES. 

Kitty. Short dress, small white apron with pockets, cap, 
handkerchief. 

Teddy. Gray knee-breeches, low shoes, short coat, green 

tie. 

Kitty. Now, Mr. Malone, when yer 
spakin' like that, 
It is aisy to see — 

(He attempts to put his arm around her.) 

Arrah, git out o' that ! 
Whin discoursin' wid ladies, politeness 

should tache, 
That you'r not to use hands, sir, instid ov 

yer spache. 
Should the missus come down, sir, how 

would I appear 
Wid me hair all bewildhered ? 

Teddy {looks at Kitty ruefully). Oh, 

Kitty, me dear, 
Yer pardon I ax, but yer mouth is so sweet 
It's a betther acquaintance I'm seekin' wid 

it; 
An' I love you so fondly — begorra, it's 

thrue ! 
That I'm always unaisy unless I'm wid you, 
An' thin I'm unaisy as bad as before, 
An' there's nothing'll aise me at all any 

more, 
Until yer betrothal I've got, and bedad, 

(Takes hold her hand with one hand, and puts the other about 
her waist. ) 

I'll not let ye go till yer promise I've had. 
Kitty {breaking away.) It's jist like yer 

impidence, Mr. Malone ! 
Teddy. Ye can't call it impidence, Kitty, 

ohone, 
In a man to be lovin' the likes of yerself, 
An' ye might marry worse, if I say it myself, 
Fur me heart is yer own, and me wages is 

good, 
An' I know a brick cabin all built out ov 

wood, 
To be had for the axin' of Dinnis McCue ; 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



357 



Fur he's goin' to lave it, and thin it will 

do, 
Wid some fixin' and mendin' to keep out 

the air, 
An' a bit ov a board to patch up here and 

there ; 
An' a thrirle ov mud to discourage the 

cracks — 
An' we'll make up in lovin' whatever it 

lacks ; 
An' its built on a rock, with a mighty fine 

view 
Ov the country surroundin' that same 

avinew ; 
An' to be quite ginteel an extension we'll 

rig, 
Convanient for keepin' an illegant pig ; 
An' thin we'll both prosper as nate as yes 

plaze, 
An' ye '11 see me an alderman some o' these 

days ; 
So, Kitty, mavourneen, turn round yer dear 

face, 
An' give us one kiss the betrothal to own. 
Kitty. The divil a bit of it, Teddy 

Malone. 
D'ye think I'd be lavin' a house ov brown 

stone 
Fur the tumble-down shanty yer talkin' 

about, 
While I live like a lady, wid two evenin's 

out, 
An' a wardrobe I flatter myself is complete? 
Sure ye couldn't tell missus from me on the 

street, 
An' at home its the same, fur she's fond of 

her aise, 
An' ye couldn't tell which ov us bosses the 

place ; 
An' its like yer assurance to ask me to lave, 
An' , be the same token — 

(He catches her hand and kisses it.) 

Now will ye behave ? 
L,et go of me hand, sir ! 

Teddy. — But Kitty, me dear, 

Ye can't be intendin' to always live here 
Wid niver a husband, but mopin' alone. 

Kitty. Whist, Mr. Malone. — Yer very 
unmannerly ! 

Teddy. Divil a man ! 
It's only the truth that I'm sayin', indade 
That yer niver intendin' to die an old maid. 



Kitty (coquet lis hly.) It's right ye are, 

Teddy, how could ye know this ! 
Teddy (eagerly.) Well, thin, will it plaze 

ye to give me the kiss. 
Kitty. Git out wid yer blarney ! (Toss- 
ing her head.) 

Shure how can I tell, 
There might be another I like just as well.. 
Teddy. Arrah, Kitty, me darlin', don't 
say that agin, 
If ye wouldn't be killin' the thruest of 

min ; 
But if there's another ye like more than me 
Then it's faithless yes are, an' its gone I'll 

be, (With emotion.) 
An' I'll die broken-hearted fur the lack av 

the joy 
I thought to be gainin' . 

Kitty. Why, Teddy, me boy, 

Is it dyin' yer talkin' av. What would / 

do— 
An unmarried widda in mournin' fur you? 

(Shyly.) 
An' ye wanted a kiss, sur? (Putting up 
lips to be kissed?) 

(Teddy kisses her several times.) 

Well, then, if ye must 
Oh, murther, the man is devourin' me just! 
Is.it aitin' me up ye'd be after belike? 
Well, if any one's askin' about ye, I'll own 
That a broth of a boy is me Teddy Malone. 



WOMAN'S RIGHTS. {Tableau.) 

A domestic scene, in which the duties 
of the sexes are reversed. One man 
should be at the wash-tub ; another 
paring potatoes and rocking the cradle 
with his foot. A woman should be reading 
the newspaper leisurely ; another, with pen 
over her ear, should be poring over some 
accounts. 



GIPSY CAHPo {Tableau.) 

Ahalf-dozkn characters of different 
ages. Kettle suspended from forked 
sticks over a fire. A Gipsy woman 
telling the fortune of a young maiden, read- 
ing the secrets from her open palm. The 
Gipsy man weaving baskets or mats. 



358 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



SIGNING THE PLEDGE. {Tableau.) 

Scene, a drunkard's home. Stool in 
centre of stage. Drunkard, kneeling 
upon one knee, face toward audience. 
Pen in hand, he signs paper lying upon stool. 
His eldest daughter is looking timidly over 
his right shoulder, her left hand resting 
upon him. On right stands a temperance ad- 
vocate, inkhorn in hand. Smiling, he looks 
down upon the paper before the signer. On 
left center, wife kneels down. In one arm 
she holds her babe, her face upturned 
toward heaven. The boy has hold of his 
mother's skirt, looking at her with wonder- 
ing eyes. 

SAM WELLER'S VALENTINE. {Tableau.) 

Sam, a rude, reckless sort of fellow, is 
discovered by his father in the act of 
writing a valentine or love-letter to his 
Mary. A short extract from " Pickwick 
Papers ' ' descriptive of the scene should 
precede the performance. 



FARMER'S KITCHEN REFORE THANKS* 
GIVING. {Tableau.) 

A woman kneading bread, another par- 
ing apples, another churning butter, 
a little girl rocking the cradle, grand- 
mother knitting, grandfather pointing with 
his cane to a nail upon which a large boy is 
trying to hang up the turkey, a boy with a 
basket of nuts. 



SCRIPTURE TABLEAUX. 

In the following Scripture tableaux, read 
the Bible text, and if possible secure 
. the aid of a reliable illustrated diction- 
ary or Biblical encyclopedia ; 
Esther before King Ahasuerus. 
The Ten Virgins. 
The Prodigal Son. 
Paul before Agrippa. 
Departure of Hagar, 



HALLOWED BE THY NAHE. 

For Sunday School Entertainment. 

Tins beautiful tableau may be represented 
in several ways. 

A mother in dark dress, and child 



in white, kneeling upon crimson cushion 
with hands folded in attitude of prayer. 

Or, a young lady in white, hair unbound, 
in attitude of prayer. 



SCRIPTURE SCENES. 

By careful attention to the matters of 
dress and light, very beautiful effects 
may be produced. Good ideas for 
these representations may often be obtained 
from Scriptural paintings, Bible Dictionar- 
ies, etc. 

Jephthah's Daughter. 

David with his Harp. 

Selling of Joseph by his Brethren. 

Solomon receiving the Queen of Sheba. 

Jacob in the House of Laban. 



THE TWO FLOWER (FLOUR) GIRLS. 
Which do you like best f { Tableau.) 

No. i. A happy bright faced girl carry- 
ing a basket of flowers, herself gaily 
decked in them. 
Superintendent. That flower girl was 
very beautiful, but let us see if the next 
does not appeal to us even more strongly. 

No. 2. Enter a Cook, sleeves rolled up, 
with hands, face and dress daubed with 
flour. 

CHRISTMAS EVE. 

A Pantomime. 

Characters and Costumes. — Santa Ciaus, a large boy, with 
long white hair and beard, round fur or paper cap, an enormous 
pack strapped upon his shoulders, from which protrude various 
toys. A light carriage-cloth may be wrapped about him. George 
and Fred — Two little boys, one quite small, dressed in short 
blouse and pantaloons in Scene I. In Scenes II, III and IV in 
long, colored dressing-gowns. Nellie — Small girl with short dress 
and apron in Scene 1. In Scenes II, III and IV in long white 
night-robe. Father and Mother — Large boy and girl in ordinary 
house dress, except the father, as Santa Clause in Scene III. 

SCKNK I. 

Thk children come bounding in, they 
bow to the audience, glance at the 
clock, go to a small bureau, and, 
opening a drawer, extract three pairs of 
colored hose. They pin the tops together, 
and, mounting chairs, proceed to hang them 
carefully upon hooks prepared to receive 
them. Georgie points to the clock, express- 
ing that it is nearly bed-time. Nellie claps 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



359 



her hands, and Fred jumps about and smiles 
his joy. Taking hold of hands, they bow 
and go out. 

SCENE II. 

The mother enters with the children, who 
are robed for sleep. She leades the two 
youngest, one by each hand. They pause, 
pointing to the stockings. The mother 
smiles, and toys with Fred's curls. She 
leads them to the couch, over which blankets 
are spread, and kneels in front of couch, 
the children follow her example, with 
clasped hands and bowed heads. They 
remain in this attitude a short time, then 
rising, the mother proceeds to assist the 
two boys into bed, kisses them good-night, 
looks out of the window, then tucks the 
covering closer about them. She then 
leads Nellie to the crib, lifts her in, kisses 
her, arranges the chairs, closes the drawer 
that the clildren left open, takes one more 
look at the boys and goes out. 

Scene III. 

Santa Claus comes creeping cautiously 
in, makes a profound bow to the audience, 
then peering at the occupants of couch and 
crib to be sure they are locked in the arms 
of Morpheus, he proceeds to fill the stock- 
ings. While he is thus engaged, the 
youngest boy {who should have piercing eyes) 
slowly raises his curly head from the pillow, 
and recognizing his father in the person of 
Santa Claus, places a finger significantly 
upon his nose, as much as to say, " You 
can't fool me ! " Of course, his movements 
are unnoticed by Santa Claus, who fills the 
stockings to repletion, places sundry other 
large toys, such as a sled, wax doll, hobby, 
etc., under each respective stocking, and 
laying a finger upon his lips, bows and goes 
out. 

Scene IV. 

The father and mother enter, and going 
up to the children, pantomime that they 
are asleep, and must not be disturbed. 
They sit. Children begin to show signs of 
waking. Fred leaps to the floor with a 
bound, rubbing his eyes, the others follow 
in rapid succession, and mounting chairs, 
wrench the stockings from the hooks, and 
scatter their contents over the floor. — {They 



should contain nothing that would injure by 
falling.*) — Fred shakes his finger mischiev- 
ously at his father, then rushes up and 
kisses him heartily. The children gather 
up the toys, which they drop again, and 
finally, with arms full, they all face the 
audience, bow and go out. 

Jennie Joy. 



CASTLES IN THE AIR 

Dialogue front ' ' Little Women. ' ' 

Arranged by Frances Putnam Poglk. 

Characters. 

Meg or Margaret. 

Jo. 

Laurie. 

Beth. 

Amy. 

Scene — Sitting-Room, All of the girls busy at something. 
Meg reading aloud. Amy drawing. Jo knitting Beth sew- 
ing. 

LAURIE. {Peeping in at door?) May I 
come in, please ? or shall I be a 
bother ? 

Jo. Of course, you may. We should 
have asked you before, only we thought you 
wouldn't care for such a girl's game as 
this. 

Laurie I always like your games ; but 
if Meg doesn't want me, I'll go away. 

Meg. I've no objection, if you do some- 
thing ; it's against the rules to be idle here. 

Laurie. Much obliged ; I'll do any- 
thing if you'll let me stop a bit, for it's as 
dull as the Desert of Sahara down there. 
Shall I sew, read, draw, or do all at once ? 
Bring on your bears ; I'm ready. 

Jo. Finish the story while I set my heel. 
{Meg hands book to Laurie, and begins to 
darn stockings.) 

Laurie {meekly.) Yes'm. {Takes book 
and jinishes some short story, while girls go 
on with work?) Please ma'am, could I 
inquire if this highly instructive and charm- 
ing institution is a new one ? 

Meg. Would you tell him ? 

Amy. He'll laugh. 

Jo. Who cares? 

Beth. I guess he'll like it. 

Laurie. Of course I shall ! I'll give you 
my word, I won't laugh. Tell away, Jo, 
and don't be afraid. 



560 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



Jo. The idea of being afraid of you ! 
Well, you see we used to play " Pilgrim's 
Progregss, ' ' and we have been going on with 
it in earnest, all winter and summer. 
Laurie. Yes, I know. 

Jo. Who told you? 

Laurie. Spirits ! 

Beth. No, I did; I wanted to amuse 
him one night when you were all away, 
and he was rather dismal. He did like it, 
so don't scold, Jo. 

Jo. You can't keep a secret. Never 
mind ; it saves trouble now. 

Laurie. Go on, please. 

Jo. Oh, didn't she tell you about this 
new plan of ours ? Well, we have tried not 
to waste our holiday, but each has had a 
task, and worked at it with a will. The va- 
cation is nearly over, the stints are all done, 
and we are ever so glad that we didn ' t dawdle . 

Laurie. Yes, I should think so. 

Jo. We call this the " Delectable Moun- 
tains," for we can look tar away and see the 
country where we hope to live some day. 

Laurie. {Looking out oj 'window .) How 
beautiful that is ! 

Amy. It's often so, and we like to watch 
it, for it is never the same but always splen- 
did. 

Beth. Jo talks about the country where 
we hope to live some day — the real country, 
she means, with pigs and chickens and hay- 
making. It would be nice, but I wish the 
beautiful country up there was real, and we 
could ever go to it. 

Meg. There is a lovlier country even 
than that, where we shall go, by and by, 
when we are good enough. 

Beth. {Musingly .) It seems so long to 
wait, so hard to do. I want to fly away at 
once, as those swallows fly, and go in at that 
splendid gate. 

Jo. You'll get there, Beth, sooner or later; 
no fear of that. I'm the one that will have 
to fight and work, and climb and wait, and 
maybe never get it after all. 

Laurie. You'll have me for company, if 
that's any comfort. I shall have to do a 
deal of traveling before I come in sight of 
your Celestial City. If I arrive late you'll 
say a good word for me, won't you, Beth ? 

Beth . ( Cheerfully.) If people really want 
to go and really try all their lives, I think 



they will get in ; for I don't believe there 
are locks on that door, or any guards at the 
gate. I always imagine it is as it is in the 
picture, where the shining ones stretch out 
their hands to welcome poor Christian as he 
came up from the river. 

Jo. Wouldn't it be fun if all the castles 
in the air which we make could come true, 
and we could live in them ? 

Laurie. I've made such quantities it 
would be hard to choose which I'd have. 

Meg. You'd have to take your favorite 
one. What is it ? 

Laurie. If I tell mine, will you tell 
yours ? 

Meg. Yes, if the girls will, too. 

Altogether. We will. Now, Laurie. 

Laurie. After I'd seen as much of the 
world as I want to, I'd like to settle in Ger- 
many and have just as much music as I 
choose. I'm to be a famous musician my- 
self, and all creation is to rush to hear me ; 
and I'm never to be bothered about money 
or business, but just enjoy myself, and live 
for what I like. That's my favorite castle. 
What's yours, Meg? 

Meg. I should like a lovely house, full 
of all sorts of luxurious things, nice food, 
pretty clothes, handsome furniture, pleasant 
people and heaps of money. I am to be 
mistress of it, and manage it as I like, with 
plenty of servants, so I never need work a 
bit. How I should enjoy it ! fori wouldn't 
be idle, but do good and make every one 
love me dearly. 

Laiirie. Wouldn't you have a master for 
your castle in the air ? 

Meg. I said "pleasant people," you 
know. 

Jo. Why don't you say you'd have a 
splendid, wise, good husband, and some 
angelic children ? You know your castle 
wouldn't be perfect without. {Scornfully.) 

Meg. {Petulantly. You'd have nothing 
but horses, inkstands and novels in yours. 

Jo. Wouldn't I though? I'd have a 
stable full of Arabian steeds, rooms piled 
with books, and I'd write out of a magic 
inkstand, so that my works should be as 
famous as Laurie's music. I wont to do 
something splendid before I go into my 
castle — something heroic or wonderful, that 
won't be forgotten after I'm dead. I don't 



DIALOGUES, TABLEAUX AND PLAYS 



361 



know what, but I'm on the watch for it, and 
mean to astonish you all, some day. I 
think I shall write books and get rich and 
famous ; that would suit me, so that is my 
favorite dream. 

Beth. (Contentedly?) Mine is to stay at 
home, safe with father and mother, and 
help take care of the family. 

Laurie. Don't you wish for anything 
else? 

Beth. Since I had my little piano I am 
perfectly satisfied. I only wish we could 
all keep well and be together ; nothing 
else. 

Amy. I have ever so many wishes ; but 
my pet one is to be an artist, and go to 
Rome, and do fine pictures, and be the best 
artist in the whole world. 

Laurie. We are an ambitious set, ain't 
we? Every one of us but Beth, wants to 
be rich and famous, and gorgeous in every 
respect. I do wonder if any of us will ever 
get our wishes ? 



Jo. I've got the key to my castle in the 
air ; whether I can unlock the door remains 
to be seen. 

Laurie. I've got the key to mine, but 
I'm not allowed to try it. Hang college ! 

Amy Here 's mine ! ( Wavi?ig her pencil. ) 

Meg. I haven't got any. (Forlornly .) 

Laurie. Yes, you have. 

Meg. Where ? 

Laurie. In your face. 

Meg. Nonsense ; that's of no use. 

Tea bell rings. All rise and lay aside work. Laurie pursues 
Jo's ball. 

Laurie. (To Meg.) Wait and see if it 
doesn't bring something worth having. (To 
all the girls.) May I come again ? 

Meg . Yes , if you are good . (Smiling . ) 

Laurie. I'll try. 

Jo. (Waving her knitting.) Then you 
may come, and I'll teach you to knit as the 
Scotchmen do ; there is a demand for socks 
just now. 

(All leave the room.) 



Part XII 

SHAKSPEAREAN DEPARTMENT 



O h akespeark with sympathies as wide as creation and sensibility as deep as old ocean 
and susceptible to all objects of universal nature becomes its painter and its dramatist 
and reveals the heart of man for all time to its fellows. As we turn over his pages we 
seem not to be conversing with an individual mind or to come in contact with an individ- 
ual character. The works of a god seem to be before us, but they are so varied, and all 
so perfect that they seem to give us no trace of their parent. The creator of this rich and 
boundless world of literature is lost in his works ; we cannot trace him — we cannot detect 
the personality of him who " holds the glass up to natures face " and reveals her as she is. 
Mimic and painter of universal nature he paints all character with equal truth and seem- 
ingly with equal relish. 



OTHELLO'S APOLOGY. 

Most potent, grave and reverend seig- 
niors ; 
My very noble, and approved good 
masters ; 
That I have ta'en away this old man's 

daughter, 
It is most true ; true, I have married her : 
The very head and front of my offending 
Hath this extent, no more. 

Rude am I in speech, 
And little blessed with the set phrase of 

peace ; 
For since these arms of mine had seven 

years' pith, 
Till now some nine moons wasted, they 

have used 
Their dearest action in the tented field ; 
And little of this great world can I speak, 
More than pertains to feats of broils and 

battle ; 
And therefore, little shall I grace my cause, 
In speaking of myself. 

362 



Yet by your gracious patience, 
I will, a round, unvarnished tale deliver, 
Of my whole course of love ; what drugs, 

what charms, 
What conjuration, and what mighty 

magic — 
For such proceedings I am charged 

withal — 
I won his daughter with. 

Her father loved me ; oft invited me ; 
Still questioned me the story of my life 
From year to year ; the battles, sieges, 

fortunes, 
That I had past. 

I ran it through, e'en from my boyish days, 
To the very moment that he bade me tell it. 
Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances ; 
Of moving accidents by flood and field ; 
Of hairbreadth 'scapes, in the imminent 

deadly breach ; 
Of being taken by the insolent foe, 
And sold to slavery ; of my redemption 

thence, 
And with it all my travels' history. 




MERCUTIO, THE FRIEND OF ROMEO 

Posed by Orrin Johnson in " Romeo and Juliet" 





^ 13 

II 

2* 

Q g 
DC- 

< : 

1,5 
O 



SHAKSPEAREAN DEPARTMENT 



365 



All these to hear, 

Would Desdemona seriously incline ; 

But still the house affairs would draw her 
thence, 

Which ever as she could with haste des- 
patch, 

She'd come again, and with a greedy ear, 

Devour up my discourse. Which, I observ- 
ing, 

Took once a pliant hour, and found good 
means 

To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart, 

That I would all my pilgrimage dilate ; 

Whereof, by parcels, she had something 
heard, 

But not distinctly. 

I did consent ; 
And often did beguile her of her tears, 
When I did speak of some distressful 

stroke, 
That my youth suffered. My story being 

done, 
She gave me for my pains a world of 

sighs. 
She swore in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas 

passing strange ; 
'Twas pitiful ; 'twas wondrous pitiful ; 
She wished she had not heard it ; yet she 

wished 
That Heaven had made her such a man. 

She thanked me, 
And bade me, if I had a friend that loved 

her, 
I should but teach him how to tell my 

story, 
And that would woo her. On this hint I 

spake, 
She loved me for the dangers I had passed ; 
And I loved her that she did pity them, 
This is the only witchcraft which I've used. 



LOST REPUTATION— FROH OTHELLO. 

Characters : I ago, Cassio. 

I ago. What ! be you hurt, lieutenant ? 
Cass. Past all surgery. 
Iago. Marry, Heaven forbid ! 
Cass. Reputation, reputation, reputation! 
Oh, I have lost my reputation ! I have lost 
the immortal part of myself ; and what re- 



mains is bestial. My reputation, Iago, my 
reputation 

Iago. As I am an honest man, I thought 
you had received some bodily wound ; there 
is more offense in that, than in reputation. 
Reputation is an idle and false imposition ; 
oft got without merit, and lost without most 
deserving. What, man ! There are ways 
to recover the general again ; sue to him, 
and he is yours. 

Cass. I will rather sue to be despised, than 
to deceive so good a commander. Oh, thou 
invisible spirit of wine ! if thou hast no 
name to be known by, let us call thee 
Devil. 

Iago. What was he that you followed 
with your sword? what had he done to 
you? 

Cass. I know not. 

Iago. Is it possible ? 

Cass. I remember a mass of things, but 
nothing distinctly ; a quarrel, but nothing 
wherefore. Oh, that men should put an 
enemy in their mouths to steal away their 
brains ! that we should with joy, pleasure, 
revel, and applause, transform ourselves into 
beasts ! 

Iago. Why, but you are now well enough; 
how came you thus recovered ? 

Cass. It has pleased the devil Drunken- 
ness, to give place to the devil Wrath. One 
imperfection shows me another, to make me 
frankly despise myself. 

Iago. Come, you are too severe a moraler. 
As the time, the place, and the condition of 
this country stands, I could heartily wish 
this had not befallen ; but since it is as it is, 
mend it for your own good. 

Cass. I will ask him for my place again ; 
he shall tell me I am a drunkard ! Had I 
as many mouths as Hydra, such an answer 
would stop them all. To be now a sensible 
man, by and by a fool, and presently a 
beast ! — Every inordinate cup is unblessed, 
and the ingredient is a devil. 

Iago. Come, come ; good wine is a good 
familiar creature, if it be well used ; ex- 
claim no more against it — and, good lieu- 
tenant, I think you think I love you ? 

Cass. I have well approved it, sir : — I 
drunk ! 

Iago. You, or any man living, may be 
drunk some time, man ? I tell you what 



;66 



SHAKSPEAREAN DEPARTMENT 



you shall do. Our general's wife is now 
the general ; confess yourself freely to her : 
importune her help to put you in your place 
again. She is of so free, so kind, so apt, so 
blessed a disposition, she holds it a vice in 
her goodness, not to do more than she is re- 
quested. This broken joint between you 
and her husband entreat her to splinter; 
and my fortune against any lay worth nam- 
ing, this crack of your love shall grow 
stronger than it was before. 

Cass. You advise me well. 

I ago. I protest, in the sincerity of love 
and honest kindness. 

Cass. I think it freely ; and betimes in the 
morning I will beseech the virtuous Desde- 
mona to undertake it for me. 

/ago. You are in the right. Good night, 
lieutenant. 

Cass. Good night, honest Iago. 



TRIAL SCENE. 

From "Merchant of Venice S 

Characters. 



Duke of Venice, 
Antonio, a merchant, 
Bassanio, his intimate friend, 



Portia, the wife of Bassanio, 
Shylock, a Jew, 
Gratiano, the enemy of the 
Tew. 



The merchant Antonio had borrowed for his friend Bassanio, 
from Shylock, the Jew, the sum of 3000 ducats ; and Shylock had 
caused to be inserted in the bond, the condition, that if Antonio 
should fail to make payment on a certain day, he should forfeit 
a pound of flesh to be cut off neares t his heart. 

Owing to losses, Antonio was unable to pay on the day ap- 
pointed ; and although his friends afterwards offered to make 
double, treble and even quadruple payment to the Jew, the latter 
claimed, as he had a right, by the strict "law of Venice," exact 
fulfilment of the bond. In this scene Portia, the wife of Bassanio 
a lady of high mental powers and great goodness, but here so 
disguised as a learned doctor and judge from Padua, as to be un- 
recognized even by her own husband, is introduced to counsel 
with the Duke in the administration of justice. 

The parties appear in court before the Duke of Venice. 

Duke. Give me your hand. Came you 
from old Bellario ? 
Portia. I did, my lord. 
Duke. You are welcome : take your 
place. 
Are you acquainted with the difference 
That holds this present question in the 
court ? 
Portia. I am informed thoroughly of the 
cause. 
Which is the merchant here, and which the 
Jew ? 
D7i/cc. Antonio and old Shylock, both 
stand forth. 



Portia . Is your name Shylock ? 

Shylock. Shylock is my name. 

Portia. Of a strange nature is the suit 

you follow ; 
Yet in such rule, that the Venetian ,aw 
Can not impugn you as you do proceed. 
You stand within his danger, do you not ? 

(To Antonio.) 
Antonio. Ay, so he says. 
Portia. Do you confess the bond ? 
Antonio. I do. 

Portia. Then must the Jew be merciful. 
Shylock. On what compulsion must I ? tell 

me that. 
Portia. The quality of mercy is not 

strained ; 
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
Upon the place beneath ; it is twice 

blessed ; 
It blesseth him that gives, and him that 

takes. 
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest. It be- 
comes 
The throned monarch better than his 

crown : 
His scepter shows the force of temporal 

power, 
The attribute to awe and majesty, 
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of 

kings : 
But mercy is above this sceptered sway ; 
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings ; 
It is an attribute to God himself ; 
And earthly power doth then show likest 

God's 
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, 

Jew, 
Though justice be thy plea, consider this — 
That, in the course of jussice, none of us 
Should see salvation : we do pray for 

mercy ; 
And that same prayer doth teach us all to 

render 
The deeds of mercy. I have spoken thus 

much 
To mitigate the justice of thy plea ; 
Which if thou follow, this strict court of 

Venice 
Must needs give sentence 'gainst the mer- 
chant there. 
Shylock. My deeds uyon my head ! I crave 

the law, 
The penalty and forfeit of my bond. 



SHAKSPEAREAN DEPARTMENT 



367 



Portia. Is he not able to discharge the 

money ? 
Bassanio. Yes, here I tender it for him in 
the court ; 
Yea, twice the sum ; if that will not suffice, 
I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er, 
On forfeit of my hands, my head, my 

heart : 
If this will not suffice, it must appear 
That malice bears down truth. And I 

beseech you, 
Wrest once the law to your authority : 
To do a great right, do a little wrong t 
And curb this cruel devil of his will. 

Portia. It must not be ; there's no 
power in Venice 
Can alter a decree established ; 
'Twill be recorded for a precedent ; 
And many an error, by the same example, 
Will rush into the state ; it cannot be. 
Shy lock. A Daniel come to judgment ! 
Yea, a Daniel ! 
O wise young judge, how do I honor thee ! 
Portia. I pray you, let me look upon the 

bond. 
Shy lock. Here 'tis, most reverend doc- 
tor ; here it is. 
Portia. Shylock, there's thrice thy 

money offered thee. 
Shylock. An oath, an oath, I have an 
oath in heaven : 
Shall I lay perjury upon my soul ? 
No, not for Venice. 

Portia. Why, this bond is forfeit ; 
And lawfully by this the Jew may claim 
A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off 
Nearest the merchant's heart. Be merciful; 
Take thrice thy money ; bid me tear the 
bond . 
Shylock. When it is paid according to 
the tenor. 
It doth appear, you are a worthy judge ; 
You know the law ; your exposition 
Hath been most sound. I charge you by 

the law, 
Whereof you are a well deserving pillar, 
Proceed to judgment ; by my soul I swear, 
There is no power in the tongue of man 
To alter me. I stay here on my bond. 
Antonio. Most heartily do I beseech the 
court 
To give the judgment. 

Portia. Why, then, thus it is : 



You must prepare your bosom for his knife. 
Shylock. O noble judge ! O excellent 

young man ! 
Portia. For the intent and purpose of 
the law 
Hath full relation to the penalty, 
Which here appeareth due upon the bond. 
Shylock. 'Tis very true : O wise and 
upright judge ! 
How much more elder art thou than thy 
looks ! 
Portia. Therefore, lay bare your bosom. 
Shylock. Ay, his breast ; 
So says the bond — doth it not, noble 

judge ? — 
Nearest his heart ; those are the very 
words. 
Portia. It is so. Are there balance here, 
to weigh 
The flesh ? 

Shylock. I have them ready. 
Portia . Have by some surgeon , Shylock , 
— on your charge, — 
To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to 
death. 
Shylock. Is it so nominated in the bond ? 
Portia. It is not so expressed ; but what 
of that ? 
'Twere good you do so much for charity. 
Shylock. I cannot find it ; 'tis not in the 

bond. 
Portia. Come, merchant, have you any- 
thing to say ? 
Antonio. But little ; I am armed, and 
well prepared. 
Give me your hand, Bassanio ! fare you 

well! 
Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you ; 
For herein fortune shows herself more kind 
Than is her custom; it is still her use, 
To let the wretched man outlive his wealth; 
To view, with hollow eye and wrinkled 

brow, 
An age of poverty ; from which lingering 

penance 
Of such misery doth she cut me off. 
Commend me to your honorable wife ; 
Tell her the process of Antonio's end ; 
Say , how I loved you ; speak me fair in death ; 
And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge, 
Whether Bassanio had not once a love. 
Repent not you that you shall lose your 
friend ; 



;6S 



SHAKSPEAREAN DEPARTMENT 



And he repents not that he pays your debt ; 
For, if the Jew do cut but deep enough, 
I'll pay it instantly with all my heart. 
Portia. A pound of that same merchant's 
flesh is thine ; 
The court awards it, and the law doth 
give it. 
Shy lock. Most rightful judge ! 
Portia. And you must cut this flesh from 
off his breast ; 
The law allows it, and the court awards it. 
Shylock. Most learned judge! A sentence! 

come, prepare. 
Portia. Tarry a little — there is something 
else— 
This bond doth give thee here no jot of 

blood ; 
The words expressly are, a pound of 

flesh. 
Take then thy bond ; take thou thy pound 

of flesh ; 
But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed 
One drop of Christian blood, thy lands 

and goods 
Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate 
Unto the state of Venice. 

Gratiano . O upright j udge ! — Mark , Jew ! 

— O learned judge ! 
Shy lock. Is that the law ? 
Portia. Thyself shall see the act : 
For, as thou urgest justice, be assured 
Thou shalt have justice, more than thou 
desirest. 
Gratia?io. O learned judge ! — Mark, Jew! 

— a learned judge ! 
Shy lock. I take this offer, then : pay the 
bond thrice, 
And let the Christian go. 

Bassanio. Here is the money. 
Portia. Soft ; 
The Jew shall have all justice — soft ! — no 

haste — 
He shall have nothing but the penalty. 
Gratiano. O Jew ! an upright judge ! a 

learned judge ! 
Portia. Therefore prepare thee to cut off 
the flesh. 
Shed thou no blood ; nor cut thou less, nor 

more, 
But a just pound of flesh. If thou takest 

more, 
Or less than just a pound — be it but 
much 



so 



As makes it light or heavy in the sub- 
stance, 
Or the division of the twentieth part 
Of one poor scruple — nay, if the scale do 

turn 
But in the estimation of a hair — 
Thou diest, and all thy goods are con- 
fiscate. 
Gratiano. A second Daniel — a Daniel, 
Jew ! 
Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip. 

Portia. Why doth the Jew pause ? take 

thy forfeiture. 
Shy lock. Give me my principal and let me 

go- 
Bassanio. I have it ready for thee ; here 

it is. 
Portia. He hath refused it in the open 

court ; 
He shall have merely justice, and his 

bond. 
Gratiano. A Daniel, still say I ! a second 

Daniel ! 
I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that 

word. 
Shy lock. Shall I not have barely my 

principal ? 
Portia. Thou shalt have nothing but the 

forfeiture, 
To be so taken at thy peril, Jew. 

Shy lock. Why, then the devil give him 

good of it ! 
I'll stay no longer question. 

Portia. Tarry, Jew ; 
The law hath yet another hold on you. 
It is enacted in the laws of Venice, 
If it be proved against an alien, 
That, by direct or indirect attempts, 
He seek the life of any citizen, 
The party, 'gainst the which he doth con- 
trive, 
Shall seize one-half his goods ; the other 

half 
Comes to the privy coffer of the state ; 
And the offender's life lies in the mercy 
Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice. 
In which predicament, I say, thou standest; 
For it appears, by manifest proceeding, 
That indirectly, and directly too, 
Thou hast contrived against the very life 
Of the defendant ; and thou hast incurred 
The danger formerly by me rehearsed. 
Down therefore and beg mercy of the duke. 



SHAKSPEAREAN DEPARTMENT 



369 



Gratiano . Beg that thou mayst have leave 
to hang thyself ; 
And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the 

state, 
Thou hast not left the value of a cord ; 
Therefore thou must be hanged at the state's 

charge. 
Duke. That thou shalt see the difference 

of our spirit, 
I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it. 
For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's 
The other half comes to the general state. 



MARK ANTONY TO THE PEOPLE, ON 
C/ESAR'S DEATH. 

From Julius Cczsar. 

Friends, Romans, countrymen lend me 
your ears 
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise 
him. 
The evil that men do lives after them ; 
The good is oft interred with their bones : 
So let it be with Caesar ! Noble Brutus 
Hath told you Caesar was ambitious : — 
If it were so, it was a grievous fault ; 
And grievously hath Caesar answered it ! 
Here, under leave of Brutus, and the 

rest — 
For Brutus is an honorable man ! 
So are they all ! all honorable men, 
Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. 

He was my friend, faithful and just to 

me, — 
But Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
And Brutus is an honorable man ! 
He hath brought many captives home to 

Rome, 
Whose ransoms did the general coffers 

fill: 
Did this in Caesar seem ambitious ? 
When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath 

wept. 
Ambition should be made of sterner 

stuff !— 
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious, 
And Brutus is an honorable man ! 
You all did see, that, on the Lupercal, 
I thrice presented him a kingly crown, 
Which he did thrice refuse : was this am- 
bition ? — 
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; 



And sure he is an honorable man ! 
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke; 
But here I am to speak what I do know. , 
You all did love him once ; not without 

cause : 
What cause withholds you, then, to mourn 

for him ! 
O judgment ! thou art fled to. brutish 

beasts, 
And men have lost their reason ! Bear 

with me : 
My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar ; 
And I must pause till it come back to 

me. — 
But yesterday, the word of Caesar might 
Have stood against the world ; — now lies he 

there, 
And none so poor to do him reverence ! 

masters ! if I were disposed to stir 
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and 

rage, 

1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius 

wrong, 
Who, you all know, are honorable men ! — 
I will not do them wrong : I rather choose 
To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and 

you, 
Than I will wrong such honorable men ! — 
But here's a parchment with the seal of 

Caesar, — 
I found it in his closet, — 'tis his will ! 
Let but the commons hear this testa- 
ment. — 
Which, pardon me, I do not mean to 

read, — 
And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's 

wounds 
And dip their napkins in his sacred blood ; 
Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, 
And, dying, mention it within their wills, 
Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, 
Unto their issue ! 

If you have tears, prepare to shed them 

now. 
You all do know this mantle : I remember 
The first time ever Caesar put it on : 
'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent, 
That day he overcame the Nervii ! — 
Look ! in this place, ran Cassius' dagger 

through ! 
See what a rent the envious Casca made ! — 
Through this, — the well-beloved Brutus 

stabbed 



37o 



SHAKSPEAREAN DEPARTMENT 



And, as he plucked his cursed steel away, 
Mark how the blood of Caesar followed it ! 
As rushing out of doors, to be resolved 
If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no ! 
For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's 

angel. 
Judge, O ye gods, how dearly Caesar loved 

hirn ! 
This was the most unkindest cut of all ! 
For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, 
Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' 

arms, 
Quite vanquished him. Then burst his 

mighty heart 
And, in his mantle muffling up his face, 
Even at the base of Pompey's statue, — 
Which all the while ran blood ! — great 

Caesar fell ! 
O, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! 
Then I, and you, and all of us, fell down ; 
Whilst bloody treason nourished over us ! 
O, now you weep ; and I perceive you 

feel 
The dint of pity : these are gracious drops ! 
Kind souls ! what ! weep you when you but 

behold 
Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? — look you 

here ! 
Here is himself, — marred, as you see, by 

traitors ! 

Good friends ! sweet friends ! let me not stir 

you up 
To such a sudden flood of mutiny ! 
They that have done this deed are honor- 
able ! 
What private griefs they have, alas ! I know 

not, 
That made them do it : they are wise and 

honorable, 
And will, no doubt, with reasons answer 

you. 
I come not, friends, to steal away your 

hearts : 
I am no orator, as Brutus is; 
But, as you know me all, a plain, blunt man, 
That love my friend, — and that they know 

full well 
That gave me public leave to speak of 

him, — 
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor 

worth, 
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of 

speech, 



To stir men's blood : I only speak right on. 

I tell you that which you yourselves do 
know ; 

Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, — poor, 
poor, dumb mouths, 

And bid them speak for me. But were I 
Brutus, 

And Brutus Antony, there were an An- 
tony 

Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a 
tongue 

In every wound of Caesar, that should 
move 

The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny ! 



QUARREL OF BRUTUS AND CASSIUS. 

From Julius Ccssar. 

Characters ; Brutus, Cassius. 
Tent Scene. 

CASSIUS- That you have wronged me, 
doth appear in this : 
You have condemned and noted 
Lucius Pella 
For taking bribes here of the Sardinians ; 
Wherein my letter (praying on his side 
Because I knew the man) was slighted of. 
Bruizes. You wronged yourself, to write 

in such a case. 
Cas. At such a time as this it is not 
meet 
That every nice offense should bear its 
comment. 
Bru. Yet let me tell you, Cassius, you 
yourself 
Are much condemned to have an itching 

palm ; 
To sell and mart your offices for gold, 
To undeservers. 

Cas. I an itching palm ? 
You know that you are Brutus that speak 

this, 
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your 
last. 
Bru. The name of Cassius honors this 
corruption, 
And chastisement doth therefore hide its 
head. 
Cas. Chastisement ! 

Bru. Remember March, the ides of 
March remember 1 



SHAKSPEAREAN DEPARTMENT 



37i 



Did not great Julius bleed for justice' 

sake ? 
What villain touched his body, that did 

stab, 
And not for justice? What, shall one of 

, us, 
That struck the foremost man of all this 

world, 
But for supporting robbers ; shall we now 
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes, 
And sell the mighty meed of our large 

honors 
For so much trash as may be grasped thus ? 
I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, 
Than such a Roman. 

Cas. Brutus, bay not me ; 
I'll not endure it : you forget yourself, 
To hedge me in ; I am a soldier, I, 
Older in practice, abler than yourself 
To make conditions. 

Bru. Go to ; you are not, Cassius. 
Cas. I am. 

Bru. I say you are not. 
Cas. Urge me no more ; I shall forget 
myself — 
Have mind upon your health — tempt me 
no further. 
Bru. Away, slight man ! 
Cas. Is it possible ? 
Bru. Hear me, for I will speak. 
Must I give way and room to your rash 

choler ? 
Shall I be frightened when a madman 
stares ? 
Cas. Oh gods ! ye gods ! must I endure 

all this ? 
Bru. All this ! ay, more. Fret till 
your proud heart break. 
Go, tell your slaves how choleric you are, 
And make your bondmen tremble. Must I 

budge ? 
Must I observe you ? Must I stand and 

crouch 
Under your testy humor ? By the gods, 
You shall digest the venom of your spleen, 
Though it do split you ; for, from this day 

forth, 
I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my 

laughter, 
When you are waspish. 
Cas. Is it come to this ? 
Bru. You say, you are a better soldier : 
L,et it appear so ; make your vaunting true, 



And it shall please me well. For mine 

own part, 
I shall be glad to learn of noble men. 

Cas. You wrong me every way — you 
wrong me, Brutus ; 
I said an elder soldier, not a better ; 
Did I say better ? 

Bru. If you did, I care not. 

Cas. When Caesar lived, he durst not 

thus have moved me. 
Bru. Peace, peace ; you durst not so 

have tempted him. 
Cas. I durst not ! 
Bru. No. 

Cas. What ! durst not tempt him ? 
Bru. For your life you durst not. 
Cas. Do not presume too much upon 
my love ; 
I may do that I shall be sorry for. 

Bru. You have done that you should be 
sorry for. 
There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats; 
For I am armed so strong in honesty, 
That they pass by me as the idle wind, 
Which I respect not. I did send to you 
For certain sums of gold, which you denied 

me ; 
For I can raise no money by vile means. 
By Heaven, I had rather coin my heart, 
And drop my blood for drachmas, than to 

wring 
From the hard hands of peasants their vile 

trash 
By any indirection. I did send 
To you for gold to pay my legions, 
Which you denied me : was that done like 

Cassius ? 
Should I have answered Caius Cassius so ? 
When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, 
To lock such rascal counters from his 

friends, 
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts j 
Dash him to pieces ! 

Cas. I denied you not. 
Bru. You did. 

Cas. I did not — he was but a fool 
That brought my answer back. Brutus 

had rived my heart. 
A friend should bear a friend's infirmities ; 
But Brutus makes mine greater than they 
are. 
Bru. I do not. Still you practice them 
on me. 



372 



SHAKSPEAREAN DEPARTMENT 



Cas. You love me not. 

Bru. I do not like your faults. 

Cas. A friendly eye could never see 

such faults. 
Bru. A flatterer's would not, though 
they do appear 
As huge as high Olympus. 

Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octa- 
vius, come ! 
Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, 
For Cassius is a-weary of the world ; 
Hated by one he loves ; braved by his 

brother ; 
Checked like a bondman ; all his faults 

observed, 
Set in a note-book, learned and conned by 

rote, 
To cast into my teeth. Oh ! I could weep 
My spirit from mine eyes ! There is my 

dagger, 
And here my naked breast — within, a heart 
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold ! 
If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth. 
I that denied thee gold, will give my heart : 
Strike as thou didst at Caesar ; for I know, 
When thou didst hate him worst, thou 

lovedst him better 
Than ever thou lovedst Cassius. 

Bru. Sheathe your dagger ; 
Be angry when you will, it shall have 

scope ; 
Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor. 
Oh, Cassius ! you are yoked with a lamb, 
That carries anger, as the flint bears fire ; 
Which, much enforced, shows a hasty 

spark, 
And straight is cold again. 

Cas. Hath Cassius lived 
To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, 
When grief, and blood ill-tempered, vexeth 
him? 
Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-tem- 
pered, too. 
Cas. Do you confess so much? Give 

me your hand. 
Bru. And my heart, too. 
Cas. Oh, Brutus ! 
Bru. What's the matter ? 
Cas. Have you not love enough to bear 
with me, 
When that rash humor which my mother 

gave me, 
Makes me forgetful ? 



Bru. Yes, Cassius, and from henceforth, 
When you are over-earnest with your 

Brutus, 
He'll think your mother chides and leave 

you so. 



ANTONY AND VENTIDIUS. 

From Antony and Cleopatra. 

Characters ; Antony, Ventidius. 

Antony. They tell me 'tis my birth-day; 
and I'll keep it 
With double pomp and sadness. 
'Tis what the day deserves, which gave me 

breath. 
Why was I raised the meteor of the 

world, 
Hung in the skies, and blazing as I 

traveled, 
Till all my fires were spent, and then cast 

downward 
To be trod out by Caesar ? 

Ve?itidius. I must disturb him. I can 
hold no longer. 

(Stands before him.) 
A?zt. (Starting up.) Art thou Ven- 
tidius ? 
Vent. Are you Antony ? 
I'm liker what I was, than you to him 
I left you last. 
Ant. I'm angry. 
Vent. So am I. 

Ant. I would be private. Leave me. 
Ve?it. Sir, I love you, 
And therefore will not leave you. 

Ant. Will not leave me ! 
Where have you learnt this answer ? Who 
am I ? 
Vent. My emperor ; the man I love next 

Heaven. 
Ant. Emperor ? Why that's the style of 
victory. . 
The conquering soldier, red with unfelt 

wounds, 
Salutes his general so : but never more 
Shall that sound reach my ears. 
Vent. I warrant you. 

Ant. Actium, Actium ! Oh 

Vent. It sits too near you. 
A?it. Here, here it lies ! a lump of lead 
by day ; 
And, in my short distracted nightly slum- 
bers, 



SHAKSPEAREAN DEPARTMENT 



373 



The hag that rides my dreams 

Vent. Out with it ; give it vent. 
Ant. Urge not my shame — 
I lost a battle. 

Vent. So has Julius done. 
Ant. Thou favorest me, and speakest not 
half thou thinkest ; 
For Julius fought it out, and lost it fairly : 

But Antony 

Vent. Nay, stop not. 
Ant. Antony 
(Well, thou wilt have it) like a coward 

fled, 
Fled while his soldiers fought ! fled first, 

Ventidius. 
Thou longest to curse me ; I give thee 

leave. 
I know thou earnest prepared to rail. 
Vent. No. 
Ant. Why? 

Vent. You are too sensible already 
Of what you've done ; too conscious of 

your failings ; 
And like a scorpion, whipped by others 

first 
To fury, sting yourself in mad revenge. 
I would bring balm, and pour it in your 

wounds, 
Cure your distempered mind, and heal your 
fortunes. 
Ant. I know thou wouldst. 
Ve7it. I will. 

Ant. Sure thou dreamest, Ventidius ! 
Vent. No, 'tis you dream ; you sleep away 
your hours 
In desperate sloth, miscalled philosophy. 
Up, up, for honor's sake ; twelve legions 

wait you, 
And long to call you chief. By painful 

journeys 
I led them, patient both of heat and 

hunger, 
Down from the Parthian marches, to the 

Nile. 
'Twill do you good to see their sun-burnt 

faces, 
Their scarred cheeks, and chopped hands ; 

there's virtue in them ; 
They'll sell those mangled limbs at dearer 

rates 
Than yon trim bands can buy. 
Ant. Where left you them ? 
Vent. I said, in Lower Syria. 



Ant. Bring them hither ; 
There may be life in these. 
Vent. They will not come. 
Ant. Why did they refuse to march ? 
Vent. They said they would not fight for 

Cleopatra. 
Ant. What was't they said ? 
Vent. They said they would not fight for 
Cleopatra. 
Why should they fight, indeed, to make her 

conqueror, 
And make you more a slave ? 

Ant. Ventidius, I allow your tongue free 
license 
On all my other faults ; but, on your life, 
No word of Cleopatra ; — she deserves 
More worlds than I can lose. 
Ve?it. Behold, you powers, 
To whom you have entrusted human kind ! 
See Europe, Asia, 'Africa, put in balance, 
And all weighed down by one light, worth- 
less woman ! 
Ant. You grow presumptuous. 
Vent. I take the privilege of plain love to 

speak 
Ant. Plain love ! plain arrogance ! plain 
insolence ! 
Thy men are cowards ; thou, an envious 

traitor, 
Who, under seeming honesty, has vented 
The burden of thy rank o'erflowing gall. 
Oh, that thou wert my equal, great in 

arms 
As the first Caesar was, that I might kill 

thee 
Without a stain to honor ! 
Vent. You may kill me ; 
You have done more already ; called me a 
traitor. 
Ant. Art thou not one ? 
Vent. For showing you yourself, 
Which no one else durst have done. But 

had I been 
That name, which I disdain to speak 

again, 
I need not have sought your abject for- 
tunes, 
Come to partake your fate, to die with you. 
What hindered me to have led my conquer- 
ing eagles 
To fill Octavius' bands ? I could have 

been 
A traitor then, a glorious, happy traitor, 



374 



SHAKSPEAREAN DEPARTMENT 



And not have been so called. 
Ant. Forgive me, soldier ; 
I've been too passionate. 

Vent. You thought me false ; 
Thought my old age betrayed you. Kill 

me, sir, 
Pray kill me ; yet you need not ; your 

unkindness 
Has left your sword no work. 

Ant. I did not think so ; 
I said it in my rage ; prithee forgive me. 
Thou only lovest, the rest have flattered 
me. 
Ve?it, Heaven's blessing on your heart, 
for that kind word 
May I believe you love me ? Speak again. 
Ant. Indeed I do. Do with me what 
thou wilt ; 
Lead me to victory, thou knowest the way. 

Vent. And will you leave this 

Ant. Prithee do not curse her, 
And I will leave her ; though Heaven 

knows I love 
Beyond life, conquest, empire, all but 

honor ; 
But I will leave her. 

Vent. That's my royal master ; 
And shall we fight ? 

Ant. I warrant thee, old soldier ; 
Thou shalt behold me once again in iron, 
And at the head of our old troops, that 

beat 
The Parthians, cry aloud, come, follow me ! 

Vent. Methinks you breathe 
Another soul ; your looks are more sub- 
lime ; 
You speak a hero, and you move like 
Mars. 
Ant. Oh, thou hast fired me ! My soul 
is up in arms ! 
And man's each part about me. Once 

again 
That noble eagerness of fight has seized 

me ; 
That eagerness with which I darted upward 
To Cassius' camp. In vain the steepyhill 
Opposed my way ! In vain a war of spears 
Sung round my head, and planted all my 

shield ! 
I won the trenches, while my foremost 

men 
Lagged on the plain below. 
Vent. Ye gods, ye gods ! 



For such another hour. 

Ant. Come on, my soldier ; 
Our hearts and arms are still the same. I 

long 
Once more to meet our foes ; that thou 

and I, 
Like Time and Death, marching before our 

troops, 
May take fate to them ; mow them out a 

passage, 
And entering where the utmost squadrons 

yield, 
Begin the noble harvest of the field. 



CORIOLANUS AND AUFIDIUS 

Characters — Coriolanus, Aufidius. 

Coriolanus. I plainly, Tullus, by your 
looks perceive 
You disapprove my conduct. 
Aufidius. I mean not to assail thee with 
the clamor 
Of loud reproaches and the war of words ; 
But, pride apart, and all that can pervert 
The light of steady reason , here to make 
A candid, fair proposal. 
Cor. Speak, I hear thee. 
Auf. I need not tell thee, that I have 
performed 
My utmost promise. Thou hast been pro- 
tected ; 
Hast had thy amplest, most ambitious wish ; 
Thy wounded pride is healed, thy dear 

revenge 
Completely sated ; and to crown thy for- 
tune, 

At the same time, thy peace with Rome 

restored. 
Thou art no more a Volscian, but a Roman; 
Return, return ; thy duty calls upon thee 
Still to protect the city thou hast saved ; 
It still may be in danger from our arms ; 
Retire ; I will take care thou mayst with 

safety . 

Cor. With safety ? Heavens ! and think- 

est thou Coriolanus 
Will stoop to thee for safety ? No ! my 

safeguard 
Is in myself, a bosom void of fear. 



SHAKSPEAREAN DEPARTMENT 



375 



O, 'tis an act of cowardice and baseness, 
To seize the very time my hands are fet- 
tered 
By the strong chain of former obligation, 
The safe, sure moment to insult me. Gods ! 
Were I now free, as on that day I was 
When at Corioli I tamed thy pride, 
This had not been. 

Auf. Thou speakest the truth ; it had 

not. 
Oh, for that time again ! Propitious gods, 
If you will bless me, grant it ! Now for that, 
For that dear purpose, I have now proposed 
Thou shouldst return ; I pray thee, Marcius, 

do it ; 
And we shall meet again on nobler terms. 

Cor. Till I have cleared my honor in 
your council, 

And proved before them all, to thy confu- 
sion, 

The falsehood of thy charge ; as soon in 
battle 

I would before thee fly, and howl for 
mercy, 

As quit the station they've assigned me 
here 

Auf. Thou canst not hope acquittal 

from the Volscians. 
Cor. I do. Nay, more, expect their 

approbation, 
Their thanks. I will obtain them such a 

peace 
As thou durst never ask ; a perfect union 
Of their whole nation with imperial Rome, 
In all her privileges, all her rights ; 
By the just gods, I will. What wouldst 

thou more ? 
Auf. What would I more, proud Roman? 

This I would — 
Fire the cursed forest, where these Roman 

wolves 
Haunt and infest their nobler nighbors 

round them ; 
Extirpate from the bosom of this land 
A false, perfidious people, who, beneath 
The mask of freedom, are a combination 
Against the liberty of human kind ; 
The genuine seed of outlaws and of robbers. 
Cor. The seed of gods. 'Tis not for 

thee, vain boaster — 
'Tis not for such as thou — so often spared 



By her victorious sword — to speak of Rome, 
But with respect and awful veneration, 
Whate'er her blots, whate'er her giddy fac- 
tions, 
There is more virtue in one single year 
Of Roman story, than your Volscian annals 
Can boast through all their creeping, dark 
duration, 
Auf. I thank thy rage. This full dis- 
plays the traitor. 
Cor. Traitor ! — How now ? 
Auf. Ay, traitor, Marcius. 
Cor. Marcius ! 

Auf. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius. Dost 
thou think 
I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stolen 

name, 
Coriolanus, in Corioli ? 
You lords, and heads of the state, perfidi- 
ously 
He has betrayed your business, and given 

up, 
For certain drops of salt, your city Rome — 
I say, your city — to his wife and mother ; 
Breaking his oath and resolution like 
A twist of rotten silk ; never admitting 
Counsel of the war ; but at his nurse's tears 
He whined and roared away your victory ; 
That pages blushed at him, and men of 

heart 
looked wondering at each other. 
Cor. Hearest thou, Mars ! 
Auf. Name not the god, thou boy of 

tears. 
Cor. Measureless liar, thou hast made 
my heart 
Too great for what contains it. Boy ! 
Cut me to pieces, Volscians, men and lads, 
Stain all your edges on me. — Boy ! 
If you have writ your annals true, 'tis 

there, 
That, like an eagle in a dovecot, I 
Fluttered your Volscians in Corioli ; 
Alone I did it. — Boy ! — But let us part ; 
L,est my rash hand should do a hasty deed 
My cooler thoughts forbids. 

Auf. I court ; 
The worst thy sword can do ; while thou 

from me 
Hast nothing to expect but sore destruc- 
tion ; 
Quit then this hostile camp once more I tell 
thee, 



376 



SHAKSPEAREAN DEPARTMENT 



Thou art not here one single hour in safety. 

Cor. Oh, that I had thee in the field, 
With six Aufidiuses, or more — thy tribe, 
To uses my lawful sword ! — 



SEVEN AGES OF MAN. 

ALiv the world's a stage, 
And all the men and women merely 
players ; 
They have their exits and their entrances ; 
And one man in his time plays many 

parts, 
His acts being seven ages. At first the 

infant, 
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. 
Then the whining school-boy, with his 

satchel, 
And shining morning face, creeping like a 

snail 
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, 
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad 
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then, a 

soldier, 



Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the 

pard, 
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in 

quarrel, 
Seeking the bubble reputation 
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the 

justice, 
In fair round belly with good capon lined, 
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, 
Full of wise saws and modern instances ; 
And so he plays his part ; the sixth age 

shifts 
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon, 
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on 

side ; 
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too 

wide 
For his shrunk shank ; and his big manly 

voice, 
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes 
And whistles in his sound. Last scene 

of all, 
That ends thisstrange eventful history, 
Is second childishness, and mere oblivion — 
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every- 
thing. 



Part XIII 

MUSICAL DEPARTMENT 



Prepared Originally and Expressly for this Volume 

BY GEORGE M. VICKERS 

Author of ' ' Guard the Flag ' ' etc. 



THE LITTLE FORESTERS. 

A Musical Sketch for Arbor Day. 

Preparation : A platform, with walls at side.s and rear dec- 
orated with evergreen ; several palms and rubber plants ranged 
along sides of platform. Benches or stools right and left of plat- 
form, leaving plenty of room in the centre for evolutions of the 
children. 

Characters. 

Colonel Acorn, "| 

Major Hickory- 
Captain Juniper, \ Foresters. 
Lieutenant Spruce, 
Sergeant Peach, J 



Lily Hawthorn, 
Daisy Primrose, 
Violet Cornflower, 
Pansy Pink, 
Lady Slipper, 



School Girls. 



Also, ten boys and ten girls for chorus and evolutions. 

Costumes. 

Forester* : Brown muslin blouses, with orange colored 
sashes worn over right shoulder, and tied in a bow at left hip. 
Each boy wears an evergreen wreath, and carries a staff with red, 
white and blue ribbon tied near the top. 

School Girls : Pink lawn dresses with green sashes ; 
wreaths of flowers to be worn on the head. Each girl to carry a 
bunch of flowers. 

Ten Boys : Dark pants, white shirt-waists. 

Ten Girls : White dresses, pink sashes. Each boy and 
girl to wear a red, white and biue rosette on left breast, and all to 
carry a small bunch of evergreen. 

Directions : The ten boys and ten girls enter upon the plat, 
form, singing the following words ; the girls enter from the right, 
the boys from the left ; they countermarch, and take up positions 
along the sides, the boys at right, the girls at left of platform. 

Song oe the Trees. 

Tune : " Comin' Thr^o the Rye." 



Hail the day with cheers of gladness, 
Let your voices ring ; 
Of the trees, their use and beauty, 
Merrily we sing : 
By the roadside, in the orchard, 
Or the forest grand, 



All the trees, wher'er we find them, 
Grow to bless the land. 



Trees that shade the dusty wayside, 

These should have our care, 
For they shield the weary trav'ler 

From the sun's bright glare ; 
'Neath their green and cooling branches, 

Ling 'ring while we may, 
Oh, how restful, how refreshing 

In the heat of day ! 

3- 
Apple blossoms, cherry blossoms, 

Fair are they to see, 
Full of promise of the fruitage 

Soon to deck the tree. 
Golden quince, and rosy apple, 

Ripe and luscious pear, 
Are among the orchard's treasures 

That we all may share. 

4- 
Sturdy oak and stately poplar, 

Cedar, elm and pine, 
I would spare you, I would shield you, 

If the power were mine. 
Hail the day with cheers of gladness, 

Let your voices ring ; 
Plant your trees that they for others 

Blessings sweet may bring. 

Directions. The boys and girls should take positions at the 
right and left of platform while singing the last stanza. 

Immediately after the singing ceases The Five Foresters enter 
and advance to front of platform. 

Colonel Acorn. Ladies and gentlemen, 
we have been attracted by your merry 
voices — may we join in your festivities? 



377 



37S 



MUSICAL DEPARTMENT 



Boys a?id Girls. Welcome ! We too are 
tree-planters, and foresters are our friends. 

Foresters. Thanks, many thanks. 

Colonel Acorn. 

11 Who sows a field, or trains a flower, 

Or plants a tree, is more than all. 

For he who blesses most is blest ; 

And God and man shall own his worth, 

Who toils to leave, as his bequest, 

An added beauty to the earth." 

Major Hickory. The man or woman who 
plants a tree is a public benefactor, and the 
tree will need no epitaph upon it to pro- 
claim the virtue of the one who planted it. 
It will be a beautiful monument to a gener- 
ous soul. 

Captain Juniper. 

I'm Captain Juniper, 
Friends, as you see, 
Named for a popular 

Sort of a tree ; 
Though valued by many, 
Some think it a sin, 
That j uniper berries 
Get mixed up with gin. 

Boys and Girls. It is not the tree, nor 
its berries ; it is not the golden grain ; it is 
simply the use, or abuse of berry and grain 
that makes them good or evil. 

Lieutenant Spruce. Ladies and gentle- 
men, I am Lieutenant Spruce, and, while I 
admit that I spruce up once in a while, it 
must not be inferred that I am a dude. 
The spruce tree is very useful, it is a pretty 
ornament in a landscape ; besides, you've 
all tasted spruce beer. 

Sergeant Peach. (Bowing low) I'm a 
Peach, ladies and gentlemen, a descendant 
of the old and honorable Peach family — 
Like the tree and its luscious fruit — which 
bear our ancient name, everybody likes the 
Peaches. 

Captain Acorn. Hark ! I hear approach- 
ing footsteps. 



School girls 



inging the following : 



Joy For the Sturdy Trees. 

Tune : " My Country His oj Thee. 



Joy for the sturdy trees ! 
Fanned by each fragrant breeze, 
Lovely they stand ! 



The song-birds o'er them thrill, 
They shade each tinkling rill, 
They crown each swelling hill, 
Lowiy or grand. 



Directions ■ At the beginning of the second stanza the For- 
esters march, followed by the school girls, the ten boys and ten 
girls following — All sing and countermarch. 



Plant them by stream and way, 
Plant where the children play 

And toilers rest ; 
In every verdant vale, 
On every sunny swale, 
Whether to grow or fail — 

God knoweth best. 



Select the strong, the fair, 
Plant them with earnest care — 

No toil is vain. 
Plant in a fitter place, 
Where, like a lovely face, 
Set in some sweeter grace, 

Change ma}?- prove gain. 



' ' God will His blessing send — 
All things on Him depend. 

His loving care 
Clings to each leaf and flower 
Like ivy to its tower. 
His presence and His power 

Are everywhere. 

While singing the last stanza, all resume their original posi- 
tions. The Foresters and school girls to occupy the front centre 

of platform. 

Captain Acorn. Much has been said of 
the trees, and very justly ; but from the 
flowers I see, I think they, too, deserve our 
praise, even if some of them are old fash- 
ioned. 

Lady Slipper. Indeed I love old fash- 
ioned flowers, and these are my friends, Miss 
Hawthorn, Miss Primrose, Miss Pink, and 
Miss Cornflower. I'm sure they are all 
sweet and charming. 

Lily H. You love them, so suppose you 
sing us something about them. 

School girls, Oh, please do ! 

Lady Slipper sings the following song ; all the children joining 
in the chorus. 



379 



OLD=FASHIONED FLOWERS, 



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Moderate. 



Words and Music by Geo. M. Vickers. 



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A CHRISTMAS SONG 



Words by Geo. M. Vickers. 




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COLUflBIA! THE GEfl OF THE OCEAN 



383 



May be sung as Solo or Quartet. 



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1. O Co - lum 

2. When war 

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brim!.... May the wreaths they have won nev - er 



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Lib - er - ty's form stands in view, 

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COLUMBIA, MY COUNTRY, 



385 



(Copy.) 

Philadelphia, March 20th, 1893. 
To whom it may concern : — 

In consideration of the blessings of American liberty, 
which I have always enjoyed, and for the purpose of encouraging a love of Country in 
the hearts of the young, I hereby transfer the Copyright of the anthem " Columbia, My 
Country" to the United States of America, so that it may be published and used by any 
person free of royalty or claim. Geo. M. Vickkrs. 



Witnesses — 
W. Wks. Chew. 
Joseph W. Morton, Jr. 



The within assignment of copyright is this day recorded in 
the Office of the Librarian of Congress, in conformity with 
the Laws of the United States respecting copyrights. 
Witness my hand and the seal of my office, this 23 day of 
March, 1893. A. R. Spofford, Librarian of Congress. 



WORDS OF ENDORSEMENT AND APPRECIATION. 

"The sentiment of the song will, I am sure, be indorsed by every true American/' 
William McKinley ; "Full of patriotic sentiment, well expressed," Governor 
William E. Russell, Massachusetts; "It is patriotic in sentiment and the music is 
charming," Governor J. M. Stone, Mississippi; "It is a patriotic gem, and will prob- 
ably remain one of the patriotic songs of our country," Governor Elisha P. Ferry, 
Washington; " I trust it may be welcomed by an appreciative public with the favor it 
deserves," Governor Lyman E. Knap, Alaska; "I regard such music as an important 
part of the education of the young people of the land," Hon. John W.anamaker ; and 
representative Americans in all parts of the United States. 



Ilsi 



Tempo di Marcia. 



Words and Music by Geo. M. Vickers. 



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1. Co - lum - bia, my Coun - try ! My song is 

2. Co - lum - bia, my Coun - try ! My heart thrills 

3. Co - lum - bia, my Coun - try ! Earths fair - est 



of thee, 

with love ; 

do - main, 



Thy 

To 

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hon -or and glo - ry Mine ev - er shall be; From hill side, from val - ley O'er 
thee am I loy - al, God hears me a-bove: Thy foes are my foe -men, To 
hon - or thy he - roes Who for thee were slain ; Thy flag still the em-blem Of 

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COLUMBIA, MY COUNTRY. 




mount - ain and plain, Shall ech - o, for - ev - er, Sweet free-dotn's re - frain. 

thee would I give E'en life, were it need - ed, That free - dom might live, 

free - dom shall be, Co - lum - bia, I love thee, Sweet home of the free. 

I am 




REFRAIN 

Allegretto. 





May God keep me stead - fast, In 

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THE MUSICAL ASTERS 

A PRETTY FEATURE WITH WHICH TO CONCLUDE AN ENTERTAINMENT 




DIAGRAM OF MUSLIN SCREEN 



Directions : Seven good voices, either male or female, or 
both. Three young men for the top holes, and four young ladies 
for the lower ones, make the most effective combination. Get a 
piece of sheeting muslin, six feet wide, and long enough to reach 
across the platform. By getting plenty of length, the same mus- 
lin will do for various platforms. In the centre of the muslin, at 
the height of five feet from the bottom, cut three round holes, the 
size of a human face. The holes must be three feet apart. Two 
feet below the three holes, cut four holes, three feet apart, as 
shown in the diagram. Around each hole paint the petals of the 
Aster flower. As these flowers are of almost every color, scarlet, 
orange, and blue can be used with good effect. 

Fasten the lower edge of the muslin to the floor of the platform ; 
the top can be attached to a rope or wire, the ends of which are 
secured to the side walls. 

The singers take position behind the screen, and each one 
placing his or her face in the hole, those at the top ones standing, 
those at the lower ones kneeling. The seven singers are named 
after the seven notes in music, thus : A, B, C, D, E, F, and G. 
Following is the manner in which the song is sung : 



DEAR ANNIE LAURIE. 

Tune — "Annie Laurie." 

Voiced A. 

MaxwEi/Ton braes are bonnie, 
Where Annie used to sigh, 
And for her, 'tis said a Scotchman 
Would lay him down and die. 



Aijy Voices. 
Would lay him down and die, 
The same as you and I : 
For his own sweet Annie Laurie 
He would lay him down and die. 

Voice B. 
Her brow was like the snow-drift, 

Yet warm her heart and true ; 
Oh, she was as fair a sweetheart 

As e'er in Scotland grew. 

Au, Voices. 
As e'er in Scotland grew, 
Where early falls the dew ; 
And she was as fair a lassie, 
As e'er in Scotland grew. 

Voice C. 
Her feet 'tis said were dainty, 

Yet no one ever knew ; 
Either from a song or story, 

The number of her shoe. 

387 



388 



THE MUSICAL ASTERS 



All Voices. 

The number of her shoe, 
Nor do they give a clue ; 
Yet still she loved a Scotchman, 
And for that she gets her due. 

Voice D. 

Her voice was low and dulcet, 
A charm that all folks prize ; 

And her blue eyes in their splendor 
Outvied the azure skies. 

All Voices. 

Outvied the azure skies, 

With all that this implies ; 

Yet we know gray, black, or brown ones 

Are sure to charm likewise. 

Voice E- 

Somewhere, an Annie Laurie, 

Somewhere, a Scotchman dwells ; 

And for both, each heart in whispers, 
The same old story tells. 

All Voices. 

The same old story tells, 
That works its mystic spells ; 
For we're all Scotch lads and lassies, 
Wherever true love dwells. 



Voice F. 

Let all praise Annie Laurie, 

And him who for her sighed ; 
And we'll hope, though 'tis not mentioned, 

He won her for his bride. 

Au, Voices. 

He won her for his bride, 

For hard, indeed, he tried ; 

And we'll hope, though oft disheartened , 

He laid not down and died. 

Voice G. 

Farewell to Annie Laurie, 

That maiden pure and true ; 
All the world will love her ever, 

'Twill love the Scotchman, too. 

All Voices. 

'Twill love the Scotchman, too, 
For what he meant to do ; 
But we'll all love Annie Laurie 
For her heart so warm and true. 

The End. 



Note. — Any song can be adapted to this form of entertain- 
ment, and all that is necessary is to apportion the words among 
the several singers. 



STAR SPANGLED BANNER. 



389 



Francis Kky. 









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1. O say can you see, by the dawn's ear - ly light, What soproud-ly we hail'd at the 

2. On the shore, dim- ly seen thro' the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread 

3. O, thus be it ev - er when freemen shall stand Be - tween their lov - ed homes and 

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twilight's last gleaming? Whose broad stripes and bright stars thro' the per- il - ous fight, O'er the 
si - lence re - pos - es, What is that, which the breeze o'er the tow - er - ing steep, As it 
war's des - o - la - tion, Blest with vie - fry and peace, may the heav'n-rescued la^d Praise the 

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we watch'dwereso gal - lant - ly stream-ing, And the rock- et's red glare, the bombs 

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has made and preserved us a na - tion, Then con - quer we must, when our 

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burst-ing in air Gave proof thro' the night that our flag was still there ; O say, does the 
morning's first beam, In full glo - ry re - fleet - eduow shines on the stream ; 'Tis the star-spangled 
cause it is just, And this be our mot -to — "In God is our trust, "And the star-spangled 



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star-spangled ban - ner still wave, O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave? 
ban-ner, O long may it wave, O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave! 
ban- ner, in tri-umph shall wave, O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave! 






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THE STARS AND STRIPES FOREVER. 



Geo. M. Vickers 
Voices in Unison. 



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i. One flag a - lone shall wave a - bove us, 'Tis the em - blem of the free, 
2. One flag, one star - ry con - stel - la - tion In its am - pie field of blue ; 



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Sweet flag with all our hearts we love thee, 
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Still our em - blem we shall be ; 



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Thou a - lone shall be the ban - uer, That our hands will raise on high. 
One flag a -lone shall wave a- bove us, 'Tis the ban - ner of the free. 

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Copyright, 1893, by Frank L. Armstrong. Used by permission. 



THE STARS AND STRIPES FOREVER. 



39i 



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THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET. 




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1. How dear to this heart are the scenes of iny child-hood, When 

2. The moss - cov- er'd buck - et I hail as a treas - ure, For 

3. How soon from, the green moss- y rim to re - ceive it, As 




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fond rec - ol - lee - tion pre - sents them to view, The 
oft - en at noon when re- turn'dfroni the field, I 



orch - ard, the mead - ow, the 
found it the source of an 



pois'd on the curb it re- clined to my lips, Not a full flowing gob - let could 







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deep tan-gled wildwood, And ev - 'ry lov'd spot which my in 

ex- (juis - ite pleasure, The pur - est and sweetest that 11a 

tempt me to leave it, Tho' fill'd with the nee -tar that Ju 



fan - cy knew. The 

ture can yield. How 

pi - ter sips. And 






THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET. 



393 





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wide-spreading stream, the mill that stood near it, The 

ar - dent I seized it with hands that were glowing, And 

now far removed from the loved sit - u - a - tion, The 

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bridge and 

quick to 

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cat - a - ract fell ; The cot of my fa - ther, the dai - ry house by it, And 

bot - torn it fell ; Then soon with the em - blem of health o - ver - flow - ing, And 
tru - sive - ly swell; As fan - cy re-verts to my fa- ther' s plan - ta - tion, And 




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e'en the rude bucket that hung in the 

drip - ping with coolness it rose from the 

sighs for the buck- et that hung in the 



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well, 
well, 
well. 



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The moss - cov-er'd buck - et that hung in the well. 




3' 4 



OUR ARHY AND NAVY. 



Words and Music by Geo. M. Vickers. 




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Moderately, with expression. 



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1. While tlie light beams 

2. Let us sing them 

3. Though you sail far 



4. Then here's to the brave, Who, their coun - try to 



save, 



Are 



bright In the home - stead to - night, And the 

a song As the days pass a - long, For 

a - way Where the foe's fleets lay, Though you 







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voic - es of lov'd ones are gay, Let us think of the brave, Who their 

well their de - vo - tion they prove ; Let them know though they roam There are 

march 'neath an al - ien sky, Here at home we are true And we 

will - ing to suf - fer and die; And while God gives us might When we 




Copyright, 1898, by Geo. M. Vickers. 



OUR ARMY AND NAVY. 



395 



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coun - try to save, 

warm hearts at home 

pray, boys that you 

fight for the right, 



Have gone 
L,et us sing 
May re - turn 
Our proud flag 



from our land 
of their val 
in "the sweet 

all the world 




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heart to their col - ors are 



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'Tis they who will stand, Or they'll 

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YANKEE DOODLE. 



Song Duett and Chorus 



Arranged by S. T. Gokdon. 



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i. Fa - ther and I went down to camp, A - long with Cap - tain Good - win, And 

2. And there was Gen - 'ral Wash- ing - ton, Up - on a snow white Char - ger, He 



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And there was Col'nel Putnam too, 
Drest in his regimentals, 

I guess as how the Brittish King, 
Can't whip our Continentals. 



And there I see'd a little keg, 
All bound around with leather, 

They beat it with two little sticks, 
To call the men together. 



And there they had a copper gun, 

Big as a log of maple, 
They tied it to a wooden cart, 

A load for Father's cattle. 



And there they fif'd away like fun, 
And play'd on cornstalk fiddles, 

And some had ribbins round their hats, 
And some around their middles. 



And ev'ry time they fir'd it off, 
It took a horn of powder, 

It made a noise like Father's gun, 
Only a nation louder. 



The troopers too, would gallop up, 
And fir'd in all direction, 

I thought they really meant to kill 
All the cow boys in the nation. 



io. 



I went as near to it myself, 

As any body dare go, 
And Father went as near again, 

I thought he dar'nt do so. 

* (jFor Chorus, see page 472.) 



But I can't tell you half I see'd, 
They kept up such a smother, 

I took my hat off, made a bow, 
And scamper' d home to Mother. 



398 



YANKEE DOODLE. 



CHORUS. 

Soprano. 



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Yan - kee doo - die keep it up, 

Contralto. 



Yan - kee doo - die 



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AHERICA.— "My Country, 'tis of Thee." 



399 



May be sung as Solo or Chorus. 



S. F. Smith. 












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Of thee 
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I sing : Land where my 

I love : I love thy 

we sing : Long may our 

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fa - thers died, Land of the 
rocks and rills, Thy woods and 
land be bright With free - dom's 



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pil - grim's pride, From ev - 'ry mount - ain side Let free - dom 

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ho - ly light ; Pro - tect us by Thy might, Great God, our 



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400 



THE NEW DIXIE. 



Xote. — The words of this song can be sung to the old tune, " Dixie's LAND ; " they fit exactly. Use the old tune, 
Key of C, the last time the Chorus is sung ; the effect is thrilling. 

Words and Music by GEO. M. ViCKERS. 
With spirit. 



je^e 






_ 9 . 9 _ 

i. Ral - ly, Soutb-rons, 'round Old Glo 

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ry, He - roes brave, re -peat your 




Copyright, 1898, by Geo M. Vickers. 



THE NEW DIXIE. 



401 



CHORUS, in Unison. 



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A- rise! ye nien of Dix-ie! Hur - rah ! hurrah ! On sea or land we'll take our stand For 

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coun - try, home and Dix-ie ! 



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To arms ! 

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For coun -try 



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Sons of heroes, shout defiance, 
On just Heaven place reliance, 

To arms ! to arms ! to arms in Dixie ! 
Southron arms will shield the nation, 
Save our flag from degradation, 

To arms ! to arms ! to arms in Dixie ! 



3 Up and march to meet the foemen, 
Let your war-cry be their omen, 

To arms ! to arms ! to arms in Dixie ! 
'Neath the flag, a band of brothers, 
For your sweethearts, wives and mothers, 

To arms ! to arms ! to arms in Dixie ! 



24 



Rally, men, from every station, 
Show the valor of your nation, 

To arms ! to arms ! to arms in Dixie ! 
Keep ablaze your beacon fires, 
Strike for honor of your sires ! 

To arms ! to arms ! to arms in Dixie ! 



4 02 

The Greatness Of the American Republic, its achievements in Art and Science, 
and its ceaseless interest in the cause of human freedom, are mainly due to the influence 
of our Public Schools, as are also the steadfast patriotism, and the bravery of its sons 
and daughters. 

THE PUBLIC SCHOOL. 



THIS SONG IS DEDICATED 
To the Superintendents, Teachers, and Pupils of our Public Schools, 

and to the 
Friends of Liberal Education Everywhere. 



Allegretto moderate). 




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Words and Music by GEO. M. ViCKERS. 



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1. When Free - dom flung her ban - ner high In tri - umph o'er the land, 'Twas 

2. The ty - rant's pow - er melts a - way When Truth and Right ap - pear, No 




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Copyright, 1899, by Geo. M. Vickers 



THE PUBLIC SCHOOL. 



403 



a tempo. 



Wis - dom's form came then in view, With knowl-edge full and 
knowl - edge el - e - vates man-kind, Makes clear the gold - en 

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all might learn in les - sons true The creed of Lib - er - ty. 
gives the bless - ings that we find With - in the Pub - lie School. 

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CHORTJS. With spirit. 



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to our for - tress 

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Hail, hail, 

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wrong! Bright, bright,bright beam thy beacon light, God bless the Pub - lie School! 







* 



-v — «— I j/ — ■-! 



THE ARMSTRONG CO., MUSIC TYPOGRAPHERG, 710! 



Part XIV 



HELPFUL QUOTATIONS 

FROM NOTED PHILOSOPHERS, ORATORS, STATESMEN AND AUTHORS 



For Use in Home and School 

T70UNG people take a great inter esest, and receive much benefit, both at home and 

in school, from the practice of beginning the day with a quotation from some 
noted person. 

In the home parents may require each one at the breakfast table to give a quota- 
tion from a well-known author or public man. The name of the author should be 
announced the day before and some facts concerning his life be told to add interest 
to the work of preparing the extracts. During breakfast the quotations, or talk about 
the author form a pleasant theme for conversation. 

In school where the number of children is great, a few may be apsointed to give 
quotations on the different school-days of the week. 

The following selections will be found sufficient for several weeks practice and 
entertainment, after which favorite authors may be read and independent selections made. 



SOLON. 

The great Spartan Lawgiver. 

Born about 640 Yeras B. C. 

He who has learned to obey, will know 
how to command. 

In everything that you do consider the 
end. 

In all things let reason be your guide. 



CONFUCIUS. 



The Founder of the Chinese Religion, and 
occupying to his followers a position similar 
in some respects to that of Jesus in the Christian 



creed. 



Born 551. Died 479 B. C. 



Eat at your own table as you would eat 
at the table of the king. 

learning without thought is labor lost. 



MOHAnnED. 

The Prophet and Founder of the Mohammedan 
Religion. 

Born about 570, A. D. Died 623. 

The ink of the scholar is more sacred than 
the blood of the martyr. 



CICERO. 

The Greatest of Roman Orators. 

Born 106 B. C. Died 43 B. C. 

Usefulness and baseness cannot exist in 
the same thing. 



404 



HELPFUL QUOTATIONS 



4°5 



An intemperate, disorderly youth will 
bring to old age, a feeble, worn-out body. 

The searching out and thorough investiga- 
tion of truth ought to be the primary study of 
man. 

PLUTARCH. 

The most noted of Ancient Biographers. But 
for his writings we should know little personally 
of the great men of antiquity. 

Born about 50 A. D. Died 120. 

To be ignorant of the lives of the most 
celebrated men of antiquity is to continue in 
childhood all our days. 



DANTE. 

Great Italian Poet ; Author of the " Inferno.''' 

Born 126-5. Died 1321. 

He who knows most, grieves most for 
wasted time. 

The wretch that would wish the poetry 
of life and feeling to be extinct, let him for- 
ever dwell in name, in frost, in ever-during 
night. 

CERVANTES. 

Noted Spanish Poet, Wit and Play-wright. 
Author of " Don Quixote." 

Born 1517. Died 1616. 

Blessings on him who invented sleep, the 
mantle that covers all human thoughts, the 
food that appeases hunger, the drink that 
quenches thirst, the fire that warms cold, 
the cold that moderates heat, and, lastly, 
the general coin that purchases all things, 
the balance and weight that equals the 
shepherd with the king, and the simple 
with the wise. 

Irresolute people let their soup grow cold 
between the plate and the mouth. 

It is courage that vanquishes in war and 
not good weapons. 

Whoever is ignorant is vulgar. 

Be slow of tongue and quick of eye. 



SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 

Born 1552. Died 1618. 

To live thy better, let thy worst thoughts 
die. 



Passions are likened best to floods and 
streams, 

The shallow murmur, but the deep are 
dumb. 



LORD BACON. 



One of the most illustrious Philosophers of the 
world. 

Born 1561. Died 1626. 

Some books are to be tasted, others to be 
swallowed, and some few to be chewed and 
digested. 

A man's nature runs either to herbs or 
weeds ; therefore, let him seasonably water 
the one, and destroy the other. 

The less people speak of their greatness 
the more we think of it. 

Boldness is bad in counsel, but good in 
execution . 

Reading maketh a full man, conference a 
ready man, and writing an exact man. 



SHAKSPEARE. 



The greatest Poet, Philosopher and Author oj 
the world. 

Born 1564. Died 1616. 

They well deserve to have, 
That know the strong 'st and surest way to 
get. 

A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a 
good livery of honor. 

He that is giddy, thinks that the world 
turns round. 

What is yours to bestow, is not yours to 
reserve. 

Praising what is lost, makes the remem- 
brance dear. 

What is the city but the people ? 

Let them obey, that know not how to 
rule. 

A friend i' the court is better than a penny 
in purse. 

The plants look up to heaven, from whence 
They have their nourishment. 

Things in motion sooner catch the eye, 
Than what not stirs. 



406 



HELPFUL QUOTATIONS 



Light boats sail swift, though greater 
hulks draw deep. 

A friend should bear his friend's infirmi- 
ties. 

Make not your thoughts your prisons. 

^ There is no time so miserable but a man 
maybe true. 

Time is the nurse and breeder of all 
good. 

Striving to better, oft we mar what's 
well. 

Receive what cheer you may ; 
The night is long, that never finds the 
day. 

Wisely and slow : they stumble that run 

fast. 

Nor ask advice of any other thought 
But faith, fulness, and courage. 

Our doubts are traitors and makes us lose 
the good we oft might win, by fearing to 
attempt. 

How far that little candle throws its 
beams ! 
So shines a good deed in this naughty 
world. 

I can easier teach twenty what were good 
to be done than be one of twenty to follow 
mine own teachings, 

The man that hath no music in himself, 
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet 

sounds, 
Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils. 

He that wants money, means, and content 
is without three good friends. 

We must be gentle now we are gentlemen. 

It is but a base ignoble mind that mounts 
no higher than a bird can soar. 

Didst thou ever hear 
That things ill got, had ever bad success ? 

Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind; 
The thief doth fear each bush an officer. 

'Tis better to be lowly born, 
And range with humble livers in content 
Than to be perked up in a glistering grief, 
And wear a golden sorrow. 



Press not a falling man too far. 

Cowards die many times before their 
deaths. 

The valiant never taste of death but 
once. 

Men at some time are masters of their 
fates. 
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 
But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 

Obey thy parents ; keep thy word justly ; 
swear not. 

Have more than thou showest 
Speak less than thou knowest 
Lend less than thou owest 
Learn more than thou trowest. 



WILLIAM PENN. 

Founder of Pennsylvania and an illustrious 
Christian Philanthropist. 

Born 1644. Died 1718 

A man, like a watch, is to be valued for 
his manner of going. 

He that does good for good's sake, seeks 
neither praise nor reward, though sure of 
both at last. 



JOSEPH ADDISON. 

noted English Writer 

Born 1672, Died 1719. 

Good nature will always supply the ab- 
sence of beauty, but beauty cannot supply 
the absence of good nature. 

What sculpture is to a block of marble, 
Education is to a human being. 

What a pity is it 
That we can die but once to save our 
country. 



BEN JONSON. 

Celebrated English Poet and Dramatist. 

Born 1574. Died 1637. 

Shakspeare was not of an age but for all 
time. 

Fear to do base, unworthy things is valor; 
if they be done to us, to suffer them is 
valor too. 



HELPFUL QUOTATIONS 



407 



THOMAS FULLER. 

Born 1608. Died 1661. 

Thou may' st as well expect to grow 
stronger by always eating, as wiser by 
always reading. It is thought and diges- 
tion which make books serviceable and give 
health and vigor to the mind. 

He lives long that lives well ; and time 
misspent is not lived but lost. 



MILTON. 

Great English Poet, Author of "Paradise Lost." 

Born 1608. Died 1674. 

Eove not thy life nor hate ; but what thou 
liv'st, 
Live well, how long or short permit to 
Heaven, 

Good, the more 
Communicated, more abundant grows. 

As good almost kill a man, as kill a good 
book. 

They also serve who only stand and wait. 



ALEXANDER POPE. 

Popular English Poet and Critic. Noted for 
the smoothness of his verse and the sting of his 
sarcasm. 

Born 1688. Died 1744. 

Vice is a monster of such frightful mien, 
As, to be hated, needs but to be seen ; 
Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, 
We first endure, then pity, then embrace. 

Honor and shame from no conditions rise ; 
Act well your part, there all the honor lies. 

Know then this truth (enough for man to 
know) 
" Virtue alone is happiness below." 

'Tis with our judgments as our watches ; 
none 
Go just alike, yet each believes his own. 



VOLTAIRE. 



' ' The most remarkable name in the history of 
French Literature.'''' 

Born 1694. Died 1778. 

Ideas are like beards ; men do not have 
them until they grow up. 



It is the danger least expected, that 
soonest comes to us. 

We cannot always oblige, but we can 
always speak obligingly. 

Providence has given us hope and sleep 
as a compensation for the many cares of life. 

I pity the man overwhelmed with the 
weight of his own leisure. 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

Eminent American Philosopher and Statesman. 

Born 1706. Died 1790. 

Energy and persistence conquer all things. 

Dost thou love life, then do not squander 
time, for that is the stuff life is made of. 

What maintains one vice will bring up 
two children. 

Better is little, provided it is your own, 
than an abundance of borrowed capital. 

If you know how to spend less than you 
get, you have the philosophers stone. 

If you would not be forgotten as soon as 
you are dead, either write things worth 
reading, or read things worth writing. 

If a man empties his purse into his head, 
no man can take it away from him. 

An investment in knowledge always pays 
the best interest. 

In my opinion there never was a good 
war or a bad peace. 



DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON. 

One of the greatest Scholars and most eminent 
Writers of the Eighteenth Century. 

Born 1709. Died 1784. 

Words are daughters of earth, but ideas 
are sons of heaven. 

The desires of man increase with his 
acquisitions. 

Don't tell me of deception. A lie is a lie 
whether it be a lie to the eye or a lie to the 
ear. 

Exert your talents and distinguish your- 
self, and don't think of retiring from the 
world until the world will be sorry that you 
retire. 



4 o8 



HELPFUL QUOTATIONS 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

English Poet. Author of the ' ' Vicar of Wakefield. ' ' 

Born 1728. Died 1774. 

People seldom improve when they have 
no other model but themselves to copy after. 

Our greatest glory consists, not in never 
falling, but in rising every time we fall. 



WILLIAM COWPER. 

Born 1731. Died 1800. 

Stillest streams 
Oft water greenest meadows ; and the bird 
That nutters least is longest on the wing. 

Words learned hy rote a parrot may rehearse; 
But talking is not always to converse. 

Absence of occupation is not rest ; 

A. mind quite vacant is a mind distressed. 



ROBERT BURNS. 

Born 1759. Died 1796. 

The best laid schemes o' mice and men 
Gang aft a- glee ; 

And leave us naught but grief and pain 
For promised joy, 

It's no' in books, it's no' in lear, 
To make men truly blest ; 

If happiness has not her seat 
And centre in the breast, 

We may be wise, or rich, or great, 
But never can be blest. 



GEORGE WASHINGTON. 

First President of the United States. "Father oj 
his Country." 

Born 1732. Died 1799. 

To be prepared for war is one of the most 
effectual means of preserving peace. 

Without virtue and without integrity the 
finest talents and the most brilliant accom- 
plishments can never gain the respect and 
conciliate the esteem of the truly valuable 
part of mankind. 



THOflAS JEFFERSON. 

Author of Declaration of Independence. Third 
President of the United States. 

Born 1743. Died 1826. 

We mutually pledge to each other our 
lives, our fortunes und our sacred honor. 



The God who gave us life gave us liberty 
at the same time. 

We hold these truths to be self-evident ; 
that all men are created equal ; that they 
are endowed by their Creator with certain 
inalienable rights ; that among these are 
life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. 



DANIEL WEBSTER. 

Americans greatest Political Orator. The De- 
fender of the Constitution. 

Born 1782. Died 1852. 

m One country, one constitution, one des- 
tiny. 

I was born an American ; I live an Amer- 
ican ; I shall die an American . 

L,et our object be our country, our whole 
country and nothing but our country. And, 
by the blessings of God, may that country 
itself become a vast and splendid monu- 
ment, not of oppression and terror, but of 
wisdom, of peace, and of liberty, upon 
which the world may gaze with admiration 
forever. 

ANDREW JACKSON. 

(Old Hickory) yth President of the United 
States. Noted for his patriotism, honesty and cour- 
age. 

Born 1767. Died 1845. 

Our Federal Union, it must and shall be 
preserved. 

Every good citizen makes his country's 
honor his own, and cherishes it not only as 
precious but as sacred. He is willing to 
risk his life in its defense and is conscious 
that he gains protection while he gives it- 



NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 

The world's greatest military Genius. First 



Emperor of the French. 



Born 1769. Died 1823 



first 






Public instruction should be the 
object of government. 

Circumstances ! I make circumstances. 

Victory belongs to the most persevering. 

Brave deeds are monuments of brave 
men. 



HELPFUL QUOTATIONS 



409 



I have only one counsel for you — Be 

fnaster. 

Providence is always on the side of the 
strongest batallions. 

To a father who loves his children, victory 
has no charms. When the heart speaks, 
glory itself is an illusion. 



DUKE OF WELLINGTON. 

The General who conquered Napoleon. 

Born 1769. Died 1852. 

The next dreadful thing to a battle lost is 
a battle won. 

Troops would never be deficient in cour- 
age if they could only know how deficient 
their enemies were. 



WILLIAM WORDSWOTRH. 

English Poet. 

Born 1770. Died 1850. 

The charities that sooth and heal and bless, 
Iyie scattered at the feet of men like flowers. 

Poetry is the outcome of emotions recol- 
lected in tranquility. 

Minds that have nothing to confer, 
Find little to perceive. 



JAMES MONTGOriERY. 

Born 1771. Died 1854. 

Here in the body pent 

Absent from Heaven I roam ; 

Yet nightly pitch my moving tent 
A days march nearer home. 



SIR WALTER SCOTT. 

Noted Scotch Poet, Historian and Novelist. 

Born 1771. Died 1832. 

The paths of virtue, though seldom 
those of worldly greatness are always those 
of pleasantness and peace. 

Without courage there cannot be truth, and 
without truth there can be no other virtue. 

Oh, what a tangled web we weave, 

When first we practice to deceive ! 

Oh, many a shaft at random sent 

Finds mark the archer little meant ! 

And many a word at random spoken, 

May soothe or wound a heart that's broken. 



THOMAS CAHPBELL. 

Born 1777. Died 1844. 

To live in hearts we leave behind 

Is not to die. 
Tis distance lends enchantment to the 
view 

And robes the mountain in its azure hue. 

A day to childhood seems a year, 
And years like passing ages. 

Coming events cast their shadows before. 



LORD BYRON. 

Born 1788. Died 1824. 

Here's a sigh for those who love me, 
And a smile for those who hate ; 
And whatever sky's above me, 
Here's a heart for every fate. 

They never fail who die in a great cause. 

Words are but things, and a small drop of 

ink, 
Falling like dew upon a thought, produces 
That which makes thousands, perhaps 

millions think. 



WILLIAfl CULLEN BRYANT. 

Mr. Bryant was the first great American Poet. 

Born 1794. Died 1828. 

The only way to shine, even in this false 
world, is to be modest and unassuming. 
Falsehood maybe a thick crust ; but, in the 
course of time, truth will find a place to break 
through. 

So live that when thy summons comes, to 

join 
The innumerable caravan, which moves 
To the pale realm where each shall take 
His chamber in the silent halls of death, 
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, 
Scourged to his dungeon ; but sustained 

and soothed . 
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave 
Like one who wraps the drapery of his 

couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant 

dreams. 



JOHN KEATS. 

Born 1795. Died 1821. 



A thing of beauty is a joy forever. 
The poetry of earth is never dead. 



410 



HELPFUL QUOTATIONS 



JOHN HOWARD PAYNE. 

Born 1792. Died 1825. 

Mid pleasures and palaces though we may 

roam. 
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like 

home. 



THOMAS CARLYLE. 

Born 1795. Died 1881. 

All true work is sacred ; in all true work, 
were it but true hand-labor, there is some- 
thing of divineness. Labor, wide as the 
earth has its summit in heaven. 

Men do less than they ought unless they 
do all they can. 

To be true is manly ; chivalrous, Chris- 
tian ; to be false is mean, cowardly, devilish,. 

History is a mighty drama, enacted upon 
the theatre of times, with suns for lamps 
and eternity for a background. 

The latest gospel in this world is, know 
thy work and do it. 



HORACE MANN. 

Born 1796. Died 1859. 

It is well to think well. It is divine to 
act well. 

Ten men have failed from defect in 
morals where one has failed from defect in 
intellect. 



THOMAS HOOD. 

Born 1798. Died 1845. 

Half the failures in life come from pull- 
ing one's horse when he is leaping. 

A friendless heart is like a hollow shell, 
That sighs over its own emptiness. 



VICTOR HUGO. 

Great French Statesman, Orator and Novelist. 

Born 1802. Died 1885. 

Dirt has been shrewdly termed ' ' mis- 
placed material." 

Forty years is the old age of youth, while 
fifty is the youth of old age. 



Let us proclaim it firmly : this age is the 
grandest of all ages. Because it is the 
most benignant. It proclaims the sover- 
eignty of the citizen and the inviolability 
of life ; it crowns the people and conse- 
crates man. 



RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 

Great American Poet, Philosopher and Essayist. 

Born 1803. Died 1882. 

Character is higher than intellect. A 
great sane will be strong to live as well as 
strong to think. 

Truth is the property of no individual, 
but it is the treasure of all men. 

Shallow men believe in luck, strong men 
believe in cause and effect. 

Beauty is its own excuse for being. 

Books are the best things well, used ; 
abused, among the worst. 

The world belongs to the energetic. 

A beautiful form is better than a beautiful 
face ; a beautiful behavior is better than a, 
beautiful form. It is the finest of fine arts. 

The only way to have a friend is to be one. 

So nigh is grandeur to our dust, 

So nigh is God to man, 

When duty whispers low, "Thou must " 

The youth replies, " I can." 



HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. 

Longfellow is the most widely read and most 
popular of all American Poets. 

Born 1807. Died 1882. 

Nothing is too late 
Till tired heart shall cease to palpitate. 

Lives of great men all remind us, 
We can make our lives sublime, 
And departing leave behind us 
Footprints on the sands of time. 

Most people would succeed in small 
things if they were not troubled with great 
ambitions. 

Look not mournfully into the past, it 
comes not back again ; wisely improve the 
present, it is thine. 



HELPFUL QUOTATIONS 



411 



No one is so accursed by fate, 
No one so utterly desolate, 

But some heart, though unknown, 

Responds unto his own. 

The heights by great men reached and kept 
Were not attained by sudden flight, 
But they, while their companions slept, 
Were toiling upward in the night. 

In the infinite meadows of Heaven, 
Blossom the lovely stars, — the forget-me- 
nots of the angels. 

Something the heart must have and cherish, 
Must love and joy and sorrow learn ; 
Something with passion clasp or perish, 
And in itself to ashes burn. 

Sunday is the golden clasD that binds the 
volume of the week. 



JOHN O. WHITTIER. 

The Poet of Freedom. 



Bor 



[807. Died 1892. 



Freedom, hand in hand with labor 
Walketh strong and brave ; 
On the forehead of his neighbor 
No man writeth slave ! 

Do well thy work. It shall succeed 
In thine or in another's day ; 
And if denied the victor's meed, 
Thou shalt not lack the toiler's pay. 

When faith is lost, when honor dies, 
The man is dead. 

Go ring the bells and fire the guns, 
And fling the starry banner out, 
Shout ' ' Freedom ! ' ' till your lisping ones 
Give back their cradle shout. 

Our lives are albums written through 
With good or ill, with false or true. 

Who, looking backward from his man- 
hood's prime, 
Sees not the spectre of his misspent time ? 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 

Poet Laureate of England, and greatest English 
Poet of the Century. 

Born 1809. Died 1892. 

Men may rise on stepping-stones 

Of their dead selves to higher things. 



Cursed be the social lies that warp us 
from the simple truth. 

Howe'er it be, it seems to me, 

'Tis only noble to be good ; 
Kind hearts are more than coronets, 

And simple faith than Norman blood. 

Oh, well for him whose will is strong ; 
He suffers, but he will not suffer long ; 
He suffers, but he cannot suffer wrong. 

But the tender grace of a day that is dead 
Will never come back to me. 

I doubt not, through the ages one increas- 
ing purpose runs, 

And the thoughts of men are widened with 
the process of the sun. 

Ah, when shall all men's good 
Be each man's rule ? And universal peace 
Lie like a shaft of light across the land, 
And like a lane of beams across the sea, 
Through all the circle of the golden year 

Behold we know not any thing ; 

I can but trust that good shall fall 
At last, far off; at last to all ; 

And every winter change to spring. 

If time be heavy on your hands, 
Are there no beggars at your gate, 

Nor any poor about your lands ? 

Oh, teach the orphan boy to read, 

Or teach the orphan girl to sew ; 

Pray Heaven for a human heart, 
And let your selfish sorrow go. 

Oh, God, for a man with heart, head, hand, 
Like some of the simple great ones gone 

For ever and ever by ; 
One still strong man, in a blatant land, 
Whatever they call him, what care I ? 
Aristocrat, democrat, autocrat, — one 

Who can rule and dare not lie ! 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 

Noted American Poet, Humorist and Philosopher . 

Born 1809. Died 1894. 

I find the great thing in this world is not 
so much where we stand as in what direc- 
tion we are moving. 

Wisdom is the abstract of the past, but 
beauty is the promise of the future. 



4 I2 



HELPFUL QUOTATIONS 



Old books, as you well .know, are books 
of the world's youth, and new books are the 
fruits of its age. 

You may set down as a truth, which 
admits of few exceptions, that those who 
ask your opinion really want your praise. 

One flag, one land, one heart, one hand, 
One nation evermore. 

Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, 

As the swift seasons roll ! 

Leave thy low vaulted past ! 

Let each new temple, nobler than the last, 

Shut thee from heaven with a dome more 

vast, 

Till thou at length are free, 
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's 
unresting sea. 



HENRY WARD BEECHER. 

America's greatest Pulpit Orator. 

Born 1813. Died 1887. 

There is no such thing as a white lie ; a 
lie is as black as a coal-pit and twice as 
foul. 

The humblest individual exerts some 
influence, either for good or evil upon 
others. 

Happiness is not the end of life ; charac- 
ter is. 

As flowers never put on their best clothes 
for Sunday, but wear their spotless raiment 
and exhale their odor everyday, so let your 
righteous life, free from stain, ever give 
forth the fragrance of the love of God. 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 

One of the greatest of American Presidents, 
Statesmen and Orators. 

Bora 1809. Died 1865. 

Let us have faith that right makes might ; 
and in that faith, let us to the end dare to 
do our duty. 

With malice toward none, with charity 
for all, with firmness in the right as God 
gives us to see the right. 

Force is all conquering, but its victories 
are short lived 

Knavery and flattery are blood relations. 






WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE. 

The greatest English Statesman of the Nineteenth 
Century. 

Bern 1809. Died 1898. 

Apt quotations carry convictions. 

Duty is a power which rises with us in 
the morning, and goes to rest with us at 
night. It is the shadow that cleaves to us, 
go where we will, and which leaves us only 
when we leave the light of life. 

Individuals not stations ornament society. 

To train the mind should be the first 
object and to stock it the next. 



JOHN B. QOUGH. 

The World' 's greatest Temperance Orator. 

Born 1817. Died 18S6 

Intemperance weaves the winding sheet 
of souls. 

A man's enemies have no power to harm 
him, if he is true to himself and loyal to 
God. 

The power of evil habit is deceptive and 
fascinating, and the man by coming to false 
conclusions argues his way down to destruc- 
tion. 

Many people begin and end their temper- 
eane talks by calling drunkards brutes. No, 
they are not brutes . I have labored for about 
eighteen years among drunkards, and I have 
never found a brute. 



JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 

Born 1819. Died 1891. 

Let us call tyrants tyrants and maintain 
That freedom comes by grace of God, 
And all that comes not by His grace must 
fall. 

Slow are the steps of freedom, but her 
feet turn never backward. 



HELPFUL QUOTATIONS 



\n 



They are slaves who fear to speak 
For the fallen and the weak ; 

They are slaves who dare not be 
In the right with two or three. 

Before men made us citizens, great nature 
made us men. 



MRS. MARIAN LEWES CROSS. 

(George Eliot) 

One of the greatest Woman Novelists of the 
World. 

Born 1820. Died 1880. 

Do we not all agree to call rapid thought 
and noble impulse by the name of inspira- 
tion ? 

Hope folded her wings, looked backward 
and became regret. 

Truth, like fruit, has rough flavors if 
we bite through. 

The reward of one duty is the power to 
fulfill another. 



ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 

A noted English Poetess. 

Born r8oQ. Died 1 861. 

Grief may be joy misunderstood 
Only the good discerns the good. 

The least flower with a brimming cup may 

stand, 
May stand and share its dewdrop with 

another near. 

Only my gentleness shall make me great; 
My humbleness exalt me 

God's greatness flows round our incom- 
pleteness ; 
Round our restlessness, His rest. 



LYDIA H. SIQOURNEY. 

An American Poetess. 



Bor 



-79 1 



Died 1865. 



A lily said to a threatning cloud 
That in sternest garb arrayed him, 

" You have taken my lord, the sun, away, 
And I know not where you have laid 
him." 



Give words, kind words, to those who e'er, 
Remorse doth need a comforter. 

With the sweet charity of speech, 

Give words that heal, and words that 
teach. 



SARAH JANE HULE. 

An American Poetess. 

Born 1795. Died 1879. 

The sea of ambition is tempest-tossed, 
And thy hopes may vanish like foam ; 
When sails are shivered, and compass lost, 
Then look to the light of home. 



LYDIA MARIA CHILD. 

Born 1802. Died 1880. 

The rarest attainment is to grow old 
happily and gracefully. 



ELIZA COOK. 

Born 1817. Died 1884. 

I love it ! I love it ! and who shall dare 
To chide me for loving that old arm-chair ? 

Let us question the thinkers and doers, 

And hear what they honestly say, 

And you'll find they believe, like bold 

wooers 
In — " where there's a will, there's a way." 



ALICE CARY. 

Born 1820. Died 1871 



Arise and all thy task fulfil, 

And as thy day thy strength shall be. 

Among the pitfalls in our way, 
The best of us walk blindly ; 
So, man, be wary, watch and pray, 
And judge your brother kindly. 

There is nothing so kindly as kindness 
And nothing so royal as truth. 



PHOEBE CARY. 

Born 1824. Died 1871. 

And isn't it, my boy or girl, 
The wisest, bravest plan, 

Whatever comes, or doesn't come, 
To do the best you can ? 



4 i4 



HELPFUL QUOTATIONS 



There are as many pleasant things, 
As niany pleasant tones, 
For those who dwell by cottage hearths 
As those who sit on thrones. 



SARA J. LIPPINCOTT. 

Grace Greenwood. 

Born 1823. 

Naught can stay the human mind, — 

'Tis upward, onward, ever! 

It yet shall tread the starlit paths 

By highest Angels trod, 

And pause but at the farthest world 

In the universe of God. 



MARY ABIGAIL DODGE. 

Gail Hamilton. 

Born 1838. Died 1896. 

It is a crushed grape that gives out the 
blood red wine ; it is the suffering soul that 
breathes the sweetest melodies. 



MARGARET E. SANGSTER. 

Born 1838. 

We cannot all make money 
But some of us can find it out 
And show its hive to others, — 
A gracious thing, no doubt. 



FRANCIS HODGSON BURNETT. 

Author of "Little Lord Fauntleroy." 

Born 1849. 

It is better than everything else, that the 
world should be a little better because a 
man has lived, — even ever so little better. 



ELLA WHEELER WILCOX. 

The Philosophic Poetess of America. 

The fault of the age is a mad endeavor 
To leap to heights that were made to 
climb ; 
By a burst of strength, or a thought that is 
clever, 
We plan to outwit and forestall time. 




Part XV 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



DECORATING THE GRAVES OF OUR 
HEROIC DEAD. 

From the specific intent to honor the memory of a few only of 
the nation's patriotic dead, the custom has grown until how it is 
observed all over America. Our Revolutionary heroes, those who 
died in the great Civil War, on both sides, and those who fell in 
Cuba in 1898, and those who gave up their lives in the Philippines 
in 1899 and 1900, are mourned and remembered alike by our patri- 
otic people. Could anything be more graceful or more beautiful ? 
The following extract from a speech of General Daniel Butter- 
worth, in May, 1900, may be fittingly used on Decoration Day 
Memorial occasions. North and South ; 

THERE are several occasions in the course 
of the year when the heart of the 
American nation grieves or rejoices 
over events that have passed into history 
and which are the peculiar concern of the 
American people alone ; when other nations 
have no place at all in the celebrations ; 
when the presence of strangers is like the 
intrusion of a little-known visitor on the 
family circle— at a time when something 
is occupying the minds and hearts of the 
family that is of deep concern to them 
alone ; when the nation would fain lock 
its doors and be alone with its grief or its 
joy. 

Memorial Day is peculiarly one of these 
occasions. The drum tap that awakens the 
living to decorate the graves of the dead 
thrills across the Continent, finding a respon- 
sive echo in the breasts of those who have 
loved ones in the cemetery and those who 
are fortunate enough to have none ; it 
brings out the aged soldier, who can Scarcely 
totter, to the graveside, but who would 
sooner die and be laid there himself than 
miss this annual gathering of veterans that 
year by year assemble in diminishing num- 
bers ; it calls forth the widow and the chil- 
dren of the patriotic dead to add to the tears 



which, for so many years, they have been 
shedding over the last resting place of heroes; 
it makes tne nation one in purpose and in 
sympathies. The following morning may 
see the struggling and the rivalries and the 
bickerings inseparable from daily life begin 
again, but for one day in the year, at least, 
the nation lays aside these, and with clasped 
hands and bared heads does honor to the 
dead. * * * * 

It is comforting to know that the Amer- 
ican nation never forgets, and that so long 
as the flag flies, wlrch is to say forever, the 
annual custom of decorating the graves of 
the nation's heroes will be observed. 

We know not what the future has in 
store for the American nation, but this we 
know, that whether the grave that we deco- 
rate to-day is that of a revolutionary hero, 
or the gallant men who died in the Civil 
War, or of a soldier of the Union, who gave 
up his life for a Mauser bullet, succumbed 
to sickness in Cuba or the Philippines, or 
came home to die from the effects of wounds 
received or sickness contracted during the 
late war, the duty is accepted by the Amer- 
ican people as a national legacy of affec- 
tionate remembrance, to once a year, at 
least, pay a tribute of respect in the shape 
of flowers and flags on the cold earth, 
beneath which the soldier's ashes repose. 
The thought has consoled the dying and 
comforts the living who are nearing the 
borderland. 

It is this beautiful regard for the dead 
who have given their lives for their coun- 
try, that makes the American nation stand 
out from all nations of the world. 

4i5 



416 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



Victims of other and foreign wars are 
buried where they fall, and there lie forever. 
A hastily-dug trench at the close of the day 
receives hap-hazard the remains of the 
killed, friend and foe being laid indiscrimi- 
nately together when the field is cleared by the 
bearers. A general sign may mark their last 
resting piace. In the case of officers, they 
may even have a headstone in course of time. 

But what nation save the American 
nation sends back its dead to be buried in the 
homeland, in graves that are not nameless, 
but separate and distinct, and set apart for 
the individual coffin, with appropriate 
inscription to tell who lies there. The sight 
of transports bearing hundreds of the iden- 
tified dead of the armies to be laid at rest in 
the national cemeteries is one unique in the 
annals of the world. 

America in this respect to its heroes 
has taught every nation a lesson. The 
reproach that the foe and the stranger shall 
walk over his head, cannot be laid at the 
door of the Americans. Those who fell 
beneath the flag are buried beneath its folds 
in a spot where forever the flag can wave 
overhead, and where once a year the floral 
tribute of the nation can be laid in token of 
its gratitude for the heroism that stopped 
not at death itself in its desire to sacrifice 
all for home and country. * * * 

How pleasant to reflect that the patriot's 
memory will always be a grateful one and that 
the graves of the nation's dead will always 
be kept beautiful and bright with the best 
floral offerings of the early springtime. 

The time was happily chosen for this 
annual decoration. When the world of 
flowers is bursting into leaf and blossom; 
when the trees are donning their Spring 
garments of green and the earth is smiling 
and verdant, is a fitting time for the senti- 
ment of the nation that finds expression in 
Memorial Day ceremonies to have full sway. 

Whether we are dedicating monuments 
on battle- worn heights, strewing flowers on 
a grave in a corner of the humble burial 
ground of a village, or planting flags on the 
military rows in the national burial grounds, 
all of us be impelled by the one sentiment, 
namely, that the dead who died for their 
country must never be forgotten by the patri- 
otic men, women, and children of America. 



MEMORIAL DAY. 

Children, bring the buds of springtime, 
Bring the fairest blooms of May, 
We will reverently lay them 
On the soldiers' graves to-day. 

That our dear land should be happy, 
And no man a slave should be, 

That is what these brave men died for, — 
Gave their lives for Liberty. 

Now for them there is no sorrow ; 

Now for them all struggles cease ; 
Now for them all strife is ended ; 

They have won a glorious peace. 

So with bright and cheerful faces, 
We will go from grave to grave, 

On this day, when all the nation 
Loves to honor its dead brave. 

While the starry flag they died for 
Floats, intwined with olive-branch, 

From the proudest Eastern city 
To the wildest Western ranch. 

Lisbeth B. Comins. 



DECORATION DAY. 

Cover them over with beautiful flowers ; 
Deck them with garlands, these 
brothers of ours, 
Lying so silent by night and by day, 
Sleeping the years of their manhood 

away, — 
Years they had marked for the joys of the 

brave, 
Years they must waste in the sloth of the 

grave. 
All the bright laurels they fought to make 

bloom 
Fell to the earth ween they went to the 

tomb. 
Give them the meed they have won in the 

past ; 
Give them the honors their merits forecast ; 
Give them the chaplets they won in the 

strife, 
Give them the laurels they lost with their 

life. 
Cover them over, — yes, cover them over, — 
Parent and husband and brother and lover ; 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



4i7 



Crown in your heart these dead heroes of 

ours, 
And cover them over with beautiful flowers. 



Cover the thousands that sleep far away, — 
Sleep where their friends cannot find them 

to-day ; 
They who in mountain and hillside and dell 
Rest where they wearied, and lie where 

they fell. 
Softly the grass -blade creeps round their 

repose, 
Sweetly above them the wild floweret 

blows ; 
Zephyrs of freedom fly gently o'erhead, 
Whispering names for the patriot dead. 
So in our minds we will name them once 

more, 
So in our hearts we will cover them o'er ; 
Roses and lilies and violets blue 
Bloom in our souls for the brave and the 

true. 
Cover them over — yes, cover them over — 
Parent and husband and brother and lover ; 
Think of those far-away heroes of ours, 
Cover them over with beautiful flowers. 
Wixiy Cakxeton. 



TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE. 

The following extract is regarded as one of the greatest mas- 
terpieces of eulogistic eloquence in the English language. 

Toussaint L'Ouverture saved his master and family by hur- 
rying them on board a vessel at the outbreak of the insurrection 
of the negroes of Hayti. He then joined the negro army, and soon 
found himself at their head. Napoleon sent a fleet with French 
veterans, with orders to bring him to France at all hazards., But 
all the skill of the French soldiers could not subdue the negro 
army, and they finally made a treaty, placing Toussaint L'Ouver- 
ture governor over the island. The negroes no sooner disbanded 
their army, than a squad of soldiers seized Toussaint by night, 
and taking him on board a vessel hurried him to France. There 
he was placed in a dungeon, and finally starved to death. 

IV I were to tell you the story of Napoleon, 
I should take it from the lips of French- 
men, who find no language rich enough 
to paint the great captain of the nineteenth 
century. Were I to tell you the story of 
Washington, I should take it from your 
hearts — you, who think no marble white 
enough on which to carve the name of the 
" Father of his Country." But I am to tell 
you the story of a negro, Toussaint L/Ou- 
verture, who has left hardly one written 
line. I am to glean it from the reluctant 
testimony of his enemies, men who despised 

25 



him because he was a negro and a slave, 
hated him because he had beaten them in 
battle. 

Cromwell manufactured his own army. 
Napoleon, at the age of twenty-seven, was 
placed at the head of the best troops Europe 
ever saw. Cromwell never saw an army 
till he was forty ; this man never saw a sol- 
dier till he was fifty. Cromwell manufac- 
tured his own army — out of what ? Eng- 
lishmen — the best blood in Europe. Out of 
the middle class of Englishmen — the best 
blood of the island. And with it he con- 
quered what? Englishmen — their equals. 
This man manufactured his army out of 
what ? Out of what you call the despicable 
race of negroes, debased, demoralized by 
200 years of slavery, 100,000 of them 
imported into the island within four years, 
unable to speak a dialect intelligible even 
to each other. Yet out of this mixed, and 
as you say, despicable mass, he forged a 
thunderbolt and hurled it at what ? At the 
proudest blood in Europe, the Spaniard, 
and sent him home conquered ; at the most 
warlike blood in Europe, the French, and 
put them under his feet ; at the pluckiest 
blood in Europe, the English, and they 
skulked home to Jamaica. 

Now, blue-eyed Saxon, proud of your 
race, go back with me to the commence- 
ment of the century, and select what states- 
man you please. Let him be either Ameri- 
can or European ; crown his temples with 
the silver locks of seventy years, and show 
me the man of Saxon lineage for whom his 
most sanguine admirer will wreathe a lau- 
rel, rich as embittered foes have placed on 
the brow of this inspired black of St. Dom- 
ingo. 

Some doubt the courage of the negro. 
Go to Hayti, and stand on those 50,000 
graves of the best soldiers France ever had, 
and ask them what they think of the negro's 
sword. 

I would call him Napoleon, but Napo- 
leon made his way to empire over broken 
oaths and through a sea of blood. This 
man never broke his word. I would call 
him Cromwell, but Cromwell was only a 
soldier, and the state he founded went down 
with him into his grave. I would call him 
Washington, but the great Virginian held 



4iS 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



slaves. This man risked his empire rather 
than permit the slave trade in the humblest 
village of his dominions. 

You think me a fanatic, for you read 
history, not with your eyes but with your 
prejudices. But fifty years hence, when 
Truth gets a hearing, the Muse of history 
will put Phocion for the Greek, Brutus for 
the Roman, Hampden for England, Fayette 
for France, choose Washington as the bright 
consummate flower of our earliest civiliza- 
tion, then, dipping her pen in the sunlight, 
will write in the clear blue above them all, 
the name of the soldier, the statesman, the 
martyr, Toussaint L/Ouvkrturk 

Wkndki.Iv Philips. 



TWO GENTLEHEN OF KENTUCKY. 

A Cutting by Frances Putnam Pogle. 

(From "Flute aad Violin, and other Kentucky Tales and 
Romances," by James Lane Allen. Copyright, 1891, by Harper 
& Brothers.) 

The two gentlemen referred to are Colonel Romulus Fields, a 
Kentucky planter of the old school, and Peter Cotton, his negro 
servant. At the close ot the war the Colonel, who was then over 
70 years of age and unmarried, sells his plantation, and taking 
Peter with him, moves to Lexington. 

For a number of years Peter had been known to his associates 
upon the plantation as a preacher of the Gospel, and, with an 
African's fondness for all that is conspicuous in dress, he had 
tiotten his mistress to make for him a sacred blue jeans coat with 
very long and spacious tails. Upon these tails, at his request, 
she had embroidered texts of Scripture with such marvelous flour- 
ishes and harmonious letterings that Solomon never reflected the 
glory in which Peter was arrayed whenever he put it on. The 
extract below is taken from the chapter entitled " New Love," 
the scene being laid in the park surrounding the Colonel's home 
in Lexington. 

Onk day, in June, Peter discovered a 
young couple love-making in the 
shrubbery, and with the deepest agi- 
tation reported the fact to the Colonel. 
Never before, probably, had the fluttering 
of the dear God's wings brought more dis- 
may than to these ancient involuntary 
guardsmen of their hiding-place. The Col- 
onel was at first for breaking up what he 
considered a piece of underhand proceed- 
ings, but when, a few days later, the Col- 
onel, followed by Peter, crept up breath- 
lessly and peeped through the bushes at the 
pair strolling along the shady, perfumed 
walks, and so plainly happy in that happi- 
ness which comes but once in a lifetime, 
they not only abandoned the idea of betray- 
ing the secret, but ever afterwards kept 
away from that part of the grounds, lest 
they should be an interruption. 



" Peter," stammered the Colonel, who 
had been trying to get the words out for 
three days, " do you suppose he has already 
— asked her ? ' ' 

" Some's pow'ful quick on de trigger, en 
some's mighty slow," replied Peter neu- 
trally. " Kn some don't use de trigger 't 
all ! " 

' ' I always thought there had to be asking 
done by somebody," replied the Colonel, a 
little vaguely. 

' ' I nuver axed Phillis ! ' ' 

" Did Phillis ask you, Peter ? ' ' 

"No, no, Marse Rom! I couldn't er 
stood dat from no 'oman ! ' ' 

The Colonel was sitting on the stone steps 
in front of the house, and Peter stood below, 
leaning against a Corinthian column, hat in 
hand, as he went on to tell his love-story. 

"Hit all happ'n dis way, Marse Rom. 
We wuz gwine have pra'r-meetin', en' I 
'lowed to walk home wid Phillis en ax 'er 
on de road. I been lowin' to ax 'er heap 'o 
times befo', but I ain' jes nuver done so. 
So I says to myse'f, says I, 'I jes mek my 
sermon to-night kiner lead up to whut I 
gwine tell Phillis on de road home. So I 
tuk my tex' from de lef tail o' my coat : 
'De greates' o' dese is charity ' ; caze I 
knowed charity wuz same ez love. En all de 
time I wuz preachin' an glorifyin' charity 
en identifyin charity wid love' I couldn' 
he'p thinkin' 'bout what I gwine to say to 
Phillis on de road home. Dat mek me 
feel better ; en de better I feel, de better I 
preach, so hit boun' to mek my heahehs 
feel better likewise — Phillis among 'um. 
So Phillis she jes sot dah listenin' en lis- 
tenin' en lookin' like we wuz a' ready on de 
road home, till I got so wuked up in my 
feelin's I jes knowed de time wus come. 
By en by, I hadn' mo' 'n done preachin' en 
wuz lookin' roun' to git my Bible en my 
hat, 'fo' up popped dat big Charity Green, 
who been settm' 'longside o' Phillis en 
tekin' ev'y las' thing I said to herse'f. Kn 
she tuk hole o' my han' en squeeze it, en 
say she felt mos' like shoutin'. Kn' 'fo I 
knowed it, I jes see Phillis wrap 'er shawl 
roun' 'er head en tu'n 'er nose up at me 
right quick en flip out de dooh. De dogs 
howl mighty mo'nful when I walk home by 
myse'f dat night," added Peter, laughing 




MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



419 



to himself, "enl am' preach dat sermon 
no mo' tell after me en Phillis wuz married. 

" Hit wuz longtime," he continued, " 'fo' 
Phillis come to heah me preach any mo'. 
But 'long 'bout de nex' fall we had big 
meetin',enheapmo' 'umj'ined. But Phillis, 
she aint nuver j 'ined yit. I preached mighty 
nigh all ' roun' my coat-tails till I say to 
myse'f, 'D' aint but one tex' lef, en I jes 
got to fetch 'er wid dat. ' De tex' wuz on de 
right tail o' my coat: ' Come unto me, all 
ye dat labor en is heavy laden.' Hit wuz a 
ve'y momentyus sermon, en all 'long I jes 
see Phillis wras'lin' wid 'erse'f, en I says, 
She got to come dis night, de Lohd he' pin' 
me. 'En I had no mo' 'n said de word, 'fo' 
she jes walked down en guv me 'erhan'. 
Den we had de baptizin' in Klkhorn Creek, 
en de watter wuz deep en de curren' tol'ble 
swift ' . Hit look to me like dere wuz five 
hundred 'uv 'um on de creek side. By en 
by I stood on de edge o' de watter, en Phil- 
lis she come down to let me baptize 'er. Kn 
me en her j'ined han's en waded out in de 
creek, mighty slow, case Phillis didn't have 
no shot roun' de bottom uv 'er dress, en it 
kep' floatin' on top de watter till I pushed 
it down. But by en by we got 'way out in 
de creek, en bofe uv us wuz trernblin'. Kn 
I says to 'er ve'y kin'ly, ' When I put you 
un'er de watter, Phillis, you mus' try en 
hole yo'se'f stiff, so I can lif you up easy.' 
But I hadn't mo' 'n jes got 'er laid back 
over de watter when 'er .feet flew off de 
bottom uv de creek, en when I retched out 
to fetch 'er up, I stepped in a hole, en fo' I 
knowed it, we wuz flounderin' roun' in de 
watter, en de hymn dey wuz singin' on de 
bank sounded mighty confused-like. Kn 
Phillis, she swallowed some watter, en all 
't once't she jest grap me right tight roun' 
de neck, en said mighty quick, says she, ' I 
gwine marry whoever gits me out'n dis yere 
watter.' 

' ' Kn by en by , when me en 'er wuz walkin' 
up de bank o' de creek, drippin' all over, I 
says to 'er, says I : 

" ' Does you 'member what you said back 
yon'er in de watter, Phillis ? ' 

" ' I ain' out'n no watter yit,' says she, 
ve'y contemptuous. 

" ' When does you consider ye'se'f out'n 
de watter, says I, ve'y humble. 



" ' When I get dese soakin' clo'es off'n 
my back . ' 

" Hit wuz good dark when we got home, 
en atter a while I crope up to de dooh o' 
Phillis's cabin, en put my eye down to de 
keyhole, en I see Phillis jes settin' 'fo' dem 
blazin' walnut logs dressed up in 'er new 
red linsey dress, en 'er eyes shinin'. Kn I 
shuk so I 'mos' faint. Den I tap easy on de 
dooh , en say in a mighty tremlin ' tone , says I : 

" ' Is you out'n de watter yit, Phillis ? ' 

" ' I got on dry dress,' says she. 

" ' Does you 'member what you said back 
yon'er in de watter, Phillis ? ' says I. 

" ' De latch-strink onde outside dedoor,' 
says she, mighty sof '. 

" Kn I walked in." 

As Peter drew near the end of this remin-. 
iscence, his voice sank to a key of inimitable 
tenderness ; and when it was ended the ensu- 
ing silence was broken by his merely adding : 

" Phillis been dead heap o' years now," 
after which he turned away. 

This recalling of the scenes of a time 
long gone by may have awakened in the 
breast of the Colonel some gentle memory ; 
for after Peter was gone, he continued to sit 
awhile in silent musing. Then getting up 
he walked in the falling twilight across the 
yard and through the gardens until he came 
to a secluded spot in the most distant cor- 
ner. There he stooped or rather knelt 
down and passed his hands, as though with 
mute benediction, over a little bed of old- 
fashioned China pinks. 

He continued kneeling over them, touch- 
ing them softly with his fingers, as though 
they were the fragrant, never-changing 
symbols of voiceless communion with his 
past. Still it may have been only the early 
dew of the evening that glistened on then 
when he rose and slowly walked away, 
leaving but the pale moonbeams to haunt 
the spot. James Lane Allen. 



APOSTROPHE TO JOHN CHINAMAN 

LOOK here, John, 
You great, big, overgrown, 
Listless, lagging, lumbering, lummox. 
If you don't stir your stumps 
And keep up with the Chariot of Progress, 
You'll be run down 



420 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



And dismembered, 

That's what. 

Did you ever hear the story 

Of the bull trying to butt 

A locomotive off the bridge ? 

No? 

Well, you'll see the narrative 

Done in living pictures 

One of these days, 

And you won't be the locomotive, 

Either. 

Put that in your pipe 

And smoke it 

Along with your blamed little 

Opium pill, 

Will you ? 

Great Joss, John, 

What's the matter with you ? 

You're a thousand years behind the age, 

And still you think 

You're the head of the procession. 

Why in thunder 

Don't you get that almond eye of yours 

On to the signs of the times, 

And tumble 

To the kind of a crawfish 

You are, anyhow ? 

Why, you self-sufficient, 

Pigtailed Celestial, 

Your representatives in this country 

Of enlightened liberty 

And progressive push 

Have been doing the washee-washee act 

For Melican man 

Long enough to have elevated 

Your countless millions 

Above the lethargic level 

At which all of you have remained 

Ever since Mon Gol (or whatever his name 

was), 
The Son of Gin Sang, 
Opened a tea joint 
And proceeded to found 
The Mongolian Dynasty — 
With the accent on the last two syllables. 
But have you caught on 
A little bit ? 
Nary a caught, 
And you are to-day not only 
Pigtailed, but pigheaded, 
And your last days 
Are worse than your first. 
Look at yourself, 



With four hundred millions ot population 
In an everlasting rabble and riot 
Of rebellion and blood, 
And away over their heads 
In ignorance, poverty and filth, 
And you don't do a darn thing 
Except to encourage them 
To be worse if they can. 
You're a gigantic, decayed cheese 
Filled full of seething maggots, 
That's what you are, 
And civilization feels called upon 
To disinfect you 
For the welfare of the world. 
Look at that Dowager Empress 
You've got leading you around by the nose 
You could make a white mark 
On her character 
With a piece of charcoal. 
And look at that Boxer gang ; 
The kind of boxing you 
Ought to give them 
Is the oblong kind 
With a silver plate on the lid. 
But you'll never do it ; 
You ain't that kind. 
Just the same, somebody else will. 
And already 
The American Eagle, 
The British Lion and 
The Russian Bear, 
With a Franco-German side show, 
Are about to open a circus season 
In your midst 
That will constitute 
A megatherian wonder, 
As an object lesson 
To the very worst misgovernment 
On earth ; 

And after the regular performance 
There will be a concert 
At which all civilization 
Will sing in a grand chorus ; 
' ' Praise God from whom all blessings flow. ' ' 
Wiixiam J. Lampton. 



ODE TO EMBONPOINT 

Great Scott ! 

Fat 

Man, it's 

Not 

So hot. 

Keep cool 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



421 



By 

Rule 

Of never fret. 

And yet, 

Meseems, such 

Talk 

Doth mock 

The 

Man obese who 

Mops his 

Brow 

And swears 

As how 

Last June 

Was not 

So 

Hot 

As Now. 

No, 

It's not 

Hot. 

O, no, no, 

No. 

And so, 

O, 

Fat man, 

Cease 

Thy 

Moan 

For skeleton 

Frame 

Of 

Skin and 

Bone. 

Possess thyself ; 

When 

Winter's 

Come 

The lean by 

Cold is 

Soon 

Made numb, 

And, 

Then, in 

All 

Thy wealth 

Of 

Fat 

Thou 'It 

Have the Lean 

Man 

Beaten 

Flat. 



IN MARGET'S GARDEN. 

A Cutting, by Frances Putnam Pogle, from 
"Beside the Bonnie Brier Busk." 

Whkn George came home for the last 
time, Marget went back and forward 
all afternoon from his bedroom to 
the window, and hid herself beneath the 
laburnum to see his face as the cart stood 
before the stile. It told her plain what she 
had feared, and Marget passed through her 
Gethsemane with the gold blossoms falling 
on her face. When their eyes met, and 
before she helped him down, mother and 
son understood. 

" Ye mind what I told ye, o' the Greek 
mothers, the day I left. Weel, I wud hae 
liked to have carried my shield, but it 
wasna to be, so I've come home on it." 
As they went slowly up the garden walk, 
" I've got my degree, a double first, mathe- 
matics and classics." 

" Ye've been a gude soldier, George, and 
faithfu'." 

" Unto death, a'm dootin', mother." 

" Na, " said Marget, " unto life." 

Drumtochty was not a heartening place 
in sickness, and Marget, who did not think 
our thoughts, endured much consolation at 
her neighbors' hands. 

Kirsty Stewart had a ' ' way ' ' in sick 
visiting, consisting in a certain cadence of 
the voice and arrangement of the face, 
which was felt to be soothing and compli- 
mentary. 

When I found George wrapped in his 
plaid beside the brier bush, whose roses 
were no whiter than his cheeks, Kirsty was 
already installed as comforter in the parlor, 
and her drone cam^ through the open 
window. 

" Ay, ay, Marget, sae it's come to this. 
Weel, we daurna complain, ye ken be 
thankfu' ye haena lost your man and five 
sons, besides twa sisters and a brither, no 
to mention cousins. Ay, ay, it's an awfu' 
lesson, Marget, no to mak' idols o' our 
bairns, for that's naethin' else than pro- 
vokin' the Almichty." 

" Did ye say the Almichty ? I'm think- 
in' that's ower grand a name for God, 
Kirsty. What wud ye think o' a father 
that hame some bonnie thing frae the fair 
for ane o' his bairns, and when the puir 



422 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



bairn wes pleased wi' it, tore it oot o' his 
hand and flung it into the fire? Eh, 
woman, he wud be a meeserable, cankered, 
jealous body. Oh, I ken weel that George 
is gaein" to leave us; but it's no because 
the Almichty is jealous o' him or me, no 
likely. It came to me last nicht that He 
needs my laddie for some grand wark in 
the ither world, and that's hoo George has 
his bukes brocht oot tae the garden and 
studies a' the day. He wants to be ready 
for his kingdom, just as he trachled in the 
bitschuleo' Drumtochty for Bdinboro' I 
hoped he would hae been a minister o' 
Christ's Gospel here, but he'll be judge 
over many cities yonder. A'm no denyin', 
Kirst}^, that it's a trial, but I hae licht on 
it, and naethin' but gude thochts o' the 
Almichty," 

When Marget came out and sat down 
beside her son, her face was shining. Then 
she saw the open window. 

" I didna ken." 

" Never mind, mither, there's nae secrets 
atween us, and it gar'd my heart leap to 
hear ye speak up like yon for God, and to 
know yir content. Dir ye mind the nicht 
I called for ye, mother, and ye gave me the 
Gospel aboot God ? ' ' 

"There had been a Revival man here," 
George explained to me, "and he was 
preaching on hell. That night I could not 
sleep, for I thought I might be in the fire 
before morning. I was only a wee laddie, 
and I did what we all do in trouble, I cried 
for my mother . Ye hae na forgotten , mither , 
the fricht that was on me that night ? ' ' 

" Never," said Marget, " and never can ; 
it's hard wark for me to keep frae hating 
that man, dead or alive Geordie gripped 
me wi' baith his wee airms round my neck, 
and he cries over and over and over again, 
' Is you God ? ' " 

" Ay, and ye kissed me, mither, and ye 
said, 'Yir safe with me. Am I a guid 
mother tae ye ? ' and when I could dae 
naethin' but hold, ye said, ' Be sure God 
maun be a hantle kinder.' The truth came 
to me as with a flicker, and I cuddled down 
into my bed, and fell asleep in His love as 
in my mither's arms." 

" Mither, that was my conversion, and, 
mither dear, I hae longed a' through thae 



college studies for the day when ma mooth 
would be opened wi' the evangel." 

Marget 's was an old-fashioned garden, 
with pinks and daisies and forget-me-nots, 
with sweet-scented wall-flower and thyme, 
and moss roses, where nature had her way, 
and gracious thoughts could visit one with- 
out any jarring note. As George's voice 
softened to the close, I caught her saying, 
" His servants shall see His face," and the 
peace of Paradise fell upon us in the shadow 
of death. 

The night before the end, George was 
carried out to his corner, and Domsie, 
whose heart was nigh unto breaking, sat 
with him the afternoon. They used to fight 
the college battles over again, with their 
favorite classics beside them, but this time 
none of them spoke of books. Marget 
was moving about the garden, and she told 
me that George looked at Domsie wistfully, 
as if he had something to say and knew not 
how to do it. 

After a while he took a book from below 
his pillow, and began, like one thinking 
over his words : 

" Maister Jamieson, ye hae been a guid 
freend tae me, the best I ever hed aifter my 
mither and faither. Will ye tak' this buik 
for a keepsake o' yir grateful scholar ? It's 
a L,atin ' Imitation,' Domsie, and it's 
bonnie printin'. Ye mind hoo ye gave me 
yir ain Virgil, and said he was a kind o' 
Pagan saint? Noo, here is my saint, and 
div ye ken, I've often thocht Virgil saw 
His day afar off, and was glad. Will ye 
read it, Domsie, for my sake, and maybe 
ye 'ill come to see — " and George could not 
find words for more. 

But Domsie understood. " Ma laddie, 
ma laddie, that I luve better than onythin' 
on earth, I'll read it till I die, and, George, 
I'll tell you what livin' man doesna ken. 
When I was your verra age I had a cruel 
trial, and my heart was turned frae faith. 
The classics hae been my Bible, though I 
said naethin' to ony man against Christ. 
He aye seemed beyond man, and noo the 
veesion o' Him has come to me in this 
gairden. Laddie, ye hae dune far mair for 
me than I ever did for you. Wull ye mak' 
a prayer for yir auld Domsie afore we 
pairt?" 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



423 



There was a thrush singing in the birches 
and a sound of bees in the air, when George 
prayed in a low, soft voice, with a little 
break in it. 

" Lord Jesus, remember my dear maister, 
for he's been a kind freend to me and mony 
a puir laddie in Dmmtochty. Bind up his 
sair heart and give him licht at eventide, 
and may the maister and his scholars meet 
some mornin' where the schule never skails, 
in the kingdom o' oor Father." 

Twice Domsie said ' ' Amen ' ' ! and it 
seemed as the voice of another man, and 
then he kissed George upon the forehead ; 
but what they said, Marget did not wish to 
hear. 

When he passed out at the garden gate, 
the westering sun was shining golden, and 
the face of Domsie was like unto that of a 
little child. Ian Macxaren. 



DOLLY'S BIRTHDAY 

Ihavk a little dolly ; she is one year old 
to-day. 
She's never very naughty nor cries to 
have her way 
And 'cause it is her birthday, I wanted her 

like new — 
But her face got a little dirty, like dollys' 

sometime do — 
So I took some soap and water and 

scrubbed her just as soft 
But, oh, my goodness gracious ! her rosy 
cheeks washed off. 

She wasn't one bit pretty with her face so 

very white 
So I quickly ran to mamma to fetch her 

round all right. 
' ' Never, never again will your dolly's cheeks 

be red, 
Dolly's wasn't made to wash ! " that's all 

my mamma said. 

Mary B. Rheinfeldt. 



THE MAN WITHOUT THE HOE 

Perhaps no poem of modern times has called forth so many 
replies and criticisms, both in prose and verse, as Edwin Mark- 
ham's famous production " The Man With the Hoe.'' The fol- 
lowing is one of the best among the number for recitation as well 
as the most philosophic in teaching 



Sing not my muse, the woes of him who 
plies the hoe, 
Who gazes vacantly about, with ping- 
ing lips and forehead low, 
Whose form beneath the weight of untold 

burdens bends, 
Whose visage is more marred than that of 
other men's. 

But rather sing of him who, destitute of hoe 
and hope, 

Has yet with misery and woe and wretch- 
edness to cope, 

Whose instincts low and grov'ling like the 
instincts of the beasts, 

Find their aim and end of being as he riots, 
eats and sleeps. 

Of him who, born and bred 'mid thelavish- 

ments of home, 
Has thence, by some misfortune dire, been 

forced to roam, 
Without the knowledge of a craft his daily 

bread to earn, 
Without the cunning to direct, the vision 

to discern. 

Of him who seeking honest toil, can no 

employment find, 
In city full or country sparse, for dextrous 

hand or mind. 
Who vaguely wanders up and down all 

through the livelong day, 
Willing to heave or dig or till for low and 

modest pay. 

Of him, posseesed of workman's craft and 

versed in artist's skill, 
Who labors not, for workman's guild is bar 

to freeman's will, 
And rules and laws of brotherhoods do not 

allow or grant 
A right to to toil to him who's not of their 

own ilk or stamp. 

Of him who gladly takes his crust from 

curb or open door, 
While others feast and revel in more than 

ample store, 
Who seldom finds for aching limbs and 

weary, throbbing head 
More than a doorstep or a loft as a covert 

and a bed. 



4-4 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



Of him who seeks, 'mid dens of vice and 

deadlier haunts of rum, 
To drown his sorrows hide his shame, his 

finer feelings numb ; 
Who finds no joy or comfort, no promise of 

release, 
No home, no friend, no helper, save the 

poorhouse or the police ; 

Whose mind is dead and dulled, whose soul 

lies crushed within, 
With will and manhood fled and conscience 

seared with sin ; 
More cursed is he than all the cursed sons 

of Ham, 
For hope has left the breast of him whom 

custom calls a man. 

Who made him such a helpless, lost and 

ruined thing? 
Not God, who erst to Adam gave — when 

the morning stars did sing — 
The promise of a chosen seed the serpent's 

head to bruise, 
The privilege, in sweat of face, a laborer's 

tool to use. 

He formed him in His image, put luster in 
his eye, 

To scan His works — who made him such in 
beauteous earth and sky, 

Put music in his lofty soul, made him a 
lord to be 

Of all His hands had fashioned, in bound- 
less land and sea. 

Who made him otherwise ? Man himself, 

his customs and his creed — 
These, chese, have made him what he is — 

man's lust of power and greed — 
A thing that oftener creeps than stands, with 

independence gone ; 
No joy in breast, no light in brain, naught 

but a loathsome form. 

'Tis you, O masters, customs, times, which 

must give back again 
The right to toil where'er he can, the right 

to be a man ; 
To live in hope and with the hoe to break 

insensate clod, 
Till body back returns to dust, and the soul 

ascends to God. 

Charles Sheard. 



PRESIDENT KRUGER'S ADDRESS AT THE 
FUNERAL OF GENERAL JOUBERT 

On the 20th of May, 1900, General Piet Joubert, Vice Presi- 
dent of the South African Republic and commander-in-chief of 
the Boer army, died suddenly. His loss was an irreparable one 
to the Boer cause. He and President Kruger had been com- 
panions in arms and in the affairs of state for more than forty 
years. The old Presidsnt frequently broke down and wept 
during the following short and pathetic address. 

i i T3ROTHERS, sisters, burghers and 

J3 friends : Only a few words can I 
say to you, for the spirit is willing, 
but the flesh is weak. We have lost our 
brother, our friend, our commandant gen- 
eral. I have lost my right hand. Not 
of yesterday, but my right hand since we 
were boys together, many long years ago. 

' ' To-night I alone seem to have been 
spared of the old people of this cherished 
land, of men who lived and struggled to- 
gether for our country. He has gone to 
Heaven whilst fighting for liberty which God 
has told us to defend ; for freedom which 
he and I have struggled together so many 
years and so often to maintain. Brothers, 
what shall I say to you in this our greatest 
day of sorrow, in this hour of national 
gloom ? 

' ' The struggle we are engaged in is for 
the principle of justice and righteousness 
which our Lord has taught us is the broad 
road to Heaven and blessedness. It is our 
sacred duty to keep on that path if we 
desire a happy ending of our dear, dead 
brother who has gone on that road to his 
eternal life. What can I say of his person- 
ality ? It is only a few short weeks ago that 
I saw him at the fighting front humbly and 
nobly taking his share of privations and the 
rough work of the campaign like the poor- 
est burgher. A true general ! A true 
Christian example to his people ! 

' ' I^et me tell you the days are dark. We 
are suffering reverses on account of the 
wickedness being rampant in our land. No 
success will come, no blessings be given 
to our great cause unless you remove the 
bad elements from amongst us, and then you 
may look forward to attaining crowning 
reward of righteousness and noble demeanor. 
Let the world rage round us and enemies 
decry us, the Lord will stand by you against 
the ruthless hand of the foe, and at the 
moment when He deems it right for inter- 
ference peace will come once more." 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



425 



OUR SERMON TASTER. 

A cutting by Frances Putnam Pogle from " Beside the 
Bonnie Brier Bush." 

IT was the birthright of every native 
of the parish to be a critic, and certain 
were allowed to be experts in special 
departments, but as an all round practitioner 
Mrs. Macfadyen had a solitary reputation. 
One felt it was genius, and could only note 
contributing circumstances — an eye that 
took in the preacher from the crown of his 
head to the sole of his foot ; an almost un- 
canny insight into character ; the instinct 
to seize on every scrap of evidence ; a 
memory that was simply an automatic regis- 
ter ; an unfailing sense of fitness ; and an 
absolute impartiality regarding subject. 

It goes without saying that Mrs. Mac- 
fadyen did not take nervous little notes 
during the sermon, or mark her Bible, or 
practice any other profane device of feeble- 
minded hearers. It did not matter how 
elaborate or how incoherent a sermon might 
be ; it could not confuse our critic. 

When John Peddie of Muirtown, who 
always approached two hours, and usually 
had to leave out the last head, took time at 
the Drumtochty Fast, and, gave at full 
length, his famous discourse on the total 
depravity of the human race, from the text, 
4 ' Arise, shine, for thy light is come, ' ' it may 
be admitted that the Glen wavered in its 
confidence. Human nature has limitations, 
and failure would have been no discredit to 
Klspeth. 

"They were say in' at the Presbytery," 
Burnbrae reported, " that is hes mair than 
seeventy heads coontin' pints, of coorse, 
and a' can weel believe it. Na, na ; it's no 
tae be expeckit that Klspeth cud gie them 
a' aifter ae hearin\" 

Jamie Soutar looked in to set his mind at 
rest, and Elspeth went at once to work. 

" Sit q oon, Jamie, for it canna be dune in 
a meenut." 

It took twenty- three minutes exactly, for 
Jamie watched the clock. 

"That's the laist, makin' seventy-four, 
and ye may depend on every ane but that 
fourth pint under the sixth head. Whether 
it wes the ' beginnin' o ' faith ' or ' the 
origin,' a' canna be sure, for he cleared his 
throat at that time." 



Probationers who preached in the vacancy 
had heard rumors, and tried to identify their 
judge, with the disconcerting result that 
they addressed their noweriest passages to 
Mistress Stirton, who was the stupidest 
woman in the Free Kirk, and had once stuck 
in the " chief end of man." They never 
suspected the sonsy, motherly woman two 
pews behind Donald Menzies, with her face 
of demure interest and general air of coun- 
try simplicity . It was as well for the proba- 
tioners that they had not caught the glint of 
those black, beady eyes. 

"It's curious," Mrs. Macfadyen re- 
marked to me one day, " hoo the pulpit 
fashions change, juist like weemen's bon- 
nets. 

" Noo a' mind when auld Doctor Ferin- 
tosh would stand two meenutes facing the 
fouk, and no sit doon till he hed his snuff. 

" But thae young birkies gie oot 'at they 
see naebody comin' in, an' cover their face 
wi' ae hand sae solemn, that if ye didna 
catch them keekin' through their fingers tae 
see what like the kirk is, yewud think they 
were pray in'." 

' ' There's not much escapes you, ' ' I dared 
to say, and although the excellent woman 
was not accessible to gross flattery, she 
seemed pleased. 

" A'm thankfu' that a' can see withoot 
lookin' ; an' a '11 wager nae man ever read 
his sermon in Drumtochty Kirk, an' a' 
didna find him oot ! Noo, there's the new 
minister o ' Netheraird, he writes his sermons 
on ae side o' ten sheets o' paper, an' he's that 
carried awa' at the end o' ilka page that he 
disna ken what he's daein', an' the sleeve 
o' his goon slips the sheet across tae the 
ither side o' the Bible. 

' ' But Doctor Ferintosh wes cleverer, sail 
it near beat me tae detect him," and Els- 
peth paused to enjoy the pulpit ruse. " It 
came tae me sudden ae Sacrament Monday, 
hoo dis he aye turn up twal texts, naither 
mair nor less, and that set me thinkin'. 
Than a' noticed that he left the Bible open 
at the place till anither text was due, an' I 
wunnereda'd been sae slow. It was this 
wy : he askit the beadle for a glass o' water 
in the vestry, and slippit his sermon in 
atween the leaves in sae mony bits. A've 
wished for a gallery at a time, but there's 



426 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



mair credit in findin' it oot below — ay, an' 
pleasure tae ; a' never wearied in kirk in ma 
life." 

Mrs. Macfadyen did not appreciate prodi- 
gal quotations of Scriptures, and had her 
suspicions of this practice. 

" Tak the minister o' Pitscourie, noo ; 
he's fair fozzy wi' trokin in his gairden an' 
feedin' pigs, and hesna studied a sermon for 
thirty years. 

" Sae what dis he dae, think ye? He 
havers for a while on the errors o' the day, 
and syne he says, ' That's what man says, 
but what says the Apostle Paul ? We 
shall see what the Apostle Paul says.' 
He puts on his glasses and turns up the 
passage, and reads maybe ten verses, and 
then he's aff on a jundy (trot) again. 
When a man hes naethin' tae say he's aye 
lang, a've seen him gie half an oor o' pas- 
sages, and anither half oor o' havers. 

' ' ' He's a Bible preacher at any rate, ' says 
Burnbrae tae me laist Fast, for honest man, 
he hes aye some gude word for a body. 

" ' It's ae thing,' I said to him, ' tae feed 
a calf wi' milk, and anither tae gie it the 
empty cogie tae lick. ' 

"It's curious, but a've noticed that when a 
Moderate gets lazy he preaches auld sermons, 
but a Free Kirk minister taks tae abusin' 
his neeburs and readin' screeds o' the Bible. 

' ' But Maister Pittendreigh hes two ser- 
mons, at ony rate," and Elspeth tasted the 
sweets of memory with such keen relish 
that I begged for a share. 

" Well, ye see he's terribly prood o' his 
feenishes, and this is ane o' them : 

' Heaven, ma brethern, will be far 
grander than the hoose o' ony earthly 
potentate, for there ye will no longer eat the 
flesh o' bulls nor drink the blood o' goats, 
but we shall sook the juicy pear and scoop 
the loocious meelon. Amen.' 

" He hes nae mair sense o' humour than 
an owl, and a' aye haud that a man withoot 
humour sudna be allowed intae a poopit. 

"A' hear that the have nae examina- 
tion in humour at the college ; it's an awfu' 
want, foritwud keep oot mony a dreich body. 

" But the meelon 's naethin' tae the goat, 
that cowed a' thing at the Fast tae. 

If jeems wes aboot a' daurna mention 
't; he canna behave himsel' tae this day 



gin he hears o' it, though ye ken he's a 
douce man as ever lived. 

' ' It wes anither feenish, and it ran this wy : 

" ' Noo, ma friends, a' wull no be keepin' 
ye ony longer, and ye 'ill a' gie hame tae yir 
ain hooses and mind yir ain business. And 
as sune as ye get hame ilka man 'ill gang tae 
his closet and shut the door, and stand for 
five meenutes, and ask himsel' this solemn 
question, ' ' Am I a goat ? ' ' Amen. ' 

" The amen near upset masel', and a' hed 
tae dunge Jeems wi' ma elbow. 

' ' He said no a word on the wy back, but a' 
saw it was barmin' in him, and he gied oot 
aifter his dinner as if he had been ta ' en unweel . 

"A' cam' on him in the byre, rowing in 
the strae like a bairn , and every ither row he 
wud say, ' Am I a goat ? ' 

' ' It was na cannie for a man o' his wecht, 
besides bein' a married man and a kirk 
member, and a' gied him a hearin'. 

' ' He sobered doon, and a' never saw him 
dae the like since. But he hesna forgot, na, 
na ; a've seen a look come ower Jeems' face 
in kirk, and a've been feared." 

When the Free Kirk quarreled in their 
vacancy over two probationers, Mrs. Mac- 
fadyen summed them up with such excel- 
lent judgment that they were thrown over 
and peace restored. 

" There's someo' thae Muirtown drapers 
can busk oot their windows that ye canna 
pass withoot lookin' ; there's bits o' blue 
and bits o' red, and a ribbon here an' a lace 
yonder. 

"It's a bonnie show and denty, an' no 
wunner the lassies stan' and stare. 

" But gae intae the shop, and peety me, 
there's next tae naethin' ; it's a' in the win- 
dow. 

"Noo, that's Maister Popinjay, as neat 
and fikey a little mannie as ever a' saw in a 
black goon. 

" His bit sermon wes six poems — five a' 
hed heard afore — four anecdotes — three aboot 
himsel' an ain aboot a lord — twa burnies, 
ae floo'r gairden, and a snowstorm, wi' the 
text thirteen times and ' beloved ' twal : 
that was a' ; a takin' window, and Nether- 
ton's lassies cudna sleep thinkin' o' him. 

"There's ither shopmen in Muirtown 
that fair scunner ye wi' their windows — 
they're that ill set out — and inside there's 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



427 



sic a wale o' stuff that the man canna get 
what ye want ; he's clean smoored wi' his 
ain goods. 

" It's a graund shop for the old fouk that 
hae plenty o' time and can turn ower the 
the things by the oor. Ye'ill no get a young 
body inside the door. 

That's Maister Auchtermuchty ; he hes 
material than he kens hoo tae handle, and 
naebody, hearin' him, can mak head or tail 
o' his sermons. 

" Ye get a rive at the Covenants ae meenut , 
an' a mouthfu' o' justification the next. 
Yir nae suner wi' the Patriarchs than yir 
whuppit aff tae the Apostles. 

"It's rich feedin', nae doot, but sair 
mixed an' no verra tasty." 

So the old and young compromised, and 
chose Carmichael. 



H 



BIJAH'S STORY. 

K was little more than a baby, 

And played on the streets all day 
And holding in his tiny fingers 
The string of a broken sleigh. 

He was ragged, and cold, and hungry, 
Yet his face was a sight to see, 

And he lisped to a passing lady — 

" Pleathe, mithus, will you yide me? 

But she drew close her fur-lined mantle, 
And her train of silk and lace, 

While she stared with haughty wonder 
In the eager, piteous face. 

And the eyes that shone so brightly, 
Brimmed o'er with gushing rain, 

And the poor little head dropped lower 
While his heart beat a sad refrain. 

When night came, cold and darkly, 
And the lamps were all alight, 

The pallid lips grew whiter 
With childish grief and fright. 

As I was passing the entrance 

Of a church across the way, 
I found a poor dead baby, 

With his head on a broken sleigh. 

Soon young and eager footsteps 
Were heard on the frozen street, 

And a boy dashed into the station, 
Covered with snow and sleet. 



On his coat was a newsboy's number, 
On his arm a ' ' bran new sled ; ' ' 

" Have you seen my brother Bijah ! 
He ought to be home in bed. 

" You see, I leave him at Smithers' 
While I go round with the Press : 

They must have forgot about him, 
And he's strayed away, I guess. 

" Last night when he said ' Our Father,' 

And about the daily bread, 
He j ust threw in an extra 

Concerning a nice new sled. 

" I was tellin' the boys at the office, 

As how he was only three ; 
And they stuck in for this here stunner ; 

And sent it home with me. 

" And won't — what's the matter, Bijah? 

Why do you shake your head ? 
O Father in Heaven, have pity ! 

O Bijah, he can't be dead* ! " 

He clasped the child to his bosom 
In a passionate, close embrace, 

His tears and kisses falling 
'Twixt sobs on the little face. 

Soon the boyish grief grew silent ; 

There was never a tear nor a moan, 
For the heart of the dear Lord Jesus 
Had taken the children home. 

Charles M. Lewis — "M. Quad" 
in Detroit Free Press. 



SALVATION AND MORALITY. 

Prof. David Swing, minister of the Fourth Presbyterian 
Church, Chicago, was cited, to appear before the Presbytery of 
the city upon the charge of Heterodoxy by Rev. Dr. Patton, 
editor of The Interior. He defended his theological principles 
in an able manner, asserting that his views were truly evangelical. 
The following extract is from his beautiful sermon upon " Salva- 
tion and Morality : " 

The divine Jesus with his morality, with 
his curse upon one who even called 
his brother Raca, with his prayer, 
"Be ye perfect," with his benediction 
for him who did the least commandment 
and taught men so, with his whole career 
full of man's subjective salvation, is an 
object too vast to be swept from the 
Christian sky by the besom of any school, 
past or to come. Be you anywhere, my 
friend, in the journey of life — in youth, or 
middle life, or old age, do not suffer any 



428 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



voice to confuse your heart as to the need 
of a personal obedience rendered the teach- 
ings of the Saviour. The precise meaning 
of salvation may elude your power of 
definition. You may not be able to find 
that line that crosses every path — 

" The hidden boundary between 
God's patience and his wrath," 

but whatever darkness may gather around 
you, amid the obscure definitions of men, 
there will always be in the initiation of 
Jesus Christ a place where no shadow can 
come. A religion that will make the 
Sermon on the Mount play a second part in 
your earthly career, comes it under any 
name, Calvinist, Methodist, Baptist or 
Catholic, that religion decline, or abandon 
so far, and draw nearer to him who knew 
better than all the schools wherein lies the 
best destiny of the soul. 

All through the life of Christ the music 
of heaven sounded to the pure in heart, and 
an awful thunder rolled in all the sky, over 
the spirit that sinned in deed and in thought ; 
and when a generation after the Saviour's 
death, the heavens opened to the vision of 
St. John, and this divine Being stood a 
radiant star on the border of earth, there 
came the same music again for the virtuous, 
the same thunder in the futurity of the 
wicked. "Blessed are they that do his 
commandments, that they may have right 
to the tree of life, and may enter in through 
the gates of the city ; for without are dogs 
and sorcerers and murderers and idolaters, 
and whosoever loveth and maketh a lie." 
Here the morals of Jesus return to us in 
awful significance. Let us not add to, nor 
take away from the words of the prophecy 
of this book. David Swing. 



OUR BANNER. 

When Christ is preached, there is a de- 
fiance given to the enemies of the 
Lord. Every time a sermon is 
preached in the power of the Spirit, it is as 
though a shrill clarion woke up the fiends of 
k ( e11 ' f ° r ^ ver ^ serm °n seems to say to them, 
Christ is come forth again to deliver his 
lawful captives out of your power ; the King 
of kings has come to take away your 
dominions, to wrest from you your stolen 



treasures, and to proclaim Himself your 
Master." Oh, there is a stern joy that the 
minister sometimes feels when he thinks 
of himself as the antagonist of the 
powers of hell. Martin Luther seems 
always to have felt it when he said, " Come 
let us sing the forty-sixth psalm, and let the 
devil do his worst. ' ' Why, that was lifting 
up his standard — the standard of the cross. 
If you want to defy the devil, don't go 
about preaching philosophy ; don't sit down 
and write out fine sermons, with long sen- 
tences, three-quarters of a mile in extent; 
don't try and cull fine smooth phrases that 
will sound sweetly in people's ears. The 
devil doesn't care a bit for this ; but talk 
about Christ, preach about the sufferings of 
a Saviour, tell sinners that there is life in a 
look at him, and straightway the devil 
taketh great umbrage. Why, look at 
many of the ministers in London ! They 
preach in their pulpits from the first of 
January to the last of December, and 
nobody finds fault with them, because they 
will prophesy such smooth things. But let 
a man preach Christ, let him disclaim about 
the power of Jesus to save, and press home 
gospel truth with simplicity and boldness, 
straightway the fiends of darkness will be 
against you; and if they cannot bite, they will 
show that they can howl and bark . There is a 
defiance, I say, it is God's defiance ; his 
gauntlet thrown down to the confederated 
powers of darkness, a gauntlet which they 
dare not take up, for they know what tre- 
mendous power for good there is in the up- 
lifting of the cross of Christ. Wave, then, 
your banner, O ye soldiers of the cross ; 
each in your place and rank keep watch 
and ward, but wave your banner still ; for 
though the adversary shall be wroth, it is 
because he knoweth that his time is short 
when once the cross of Christ is lifted up. 
Charles H. Spurgeon. 



THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD. 

This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceil- 
ing, 
Like a huge organ, rise the burnished 
arms ; 
But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing, 
Startles the village with strange alarms. 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



429 



Ah ! what a sound will rise, how wild and 
dreary, 
When the death-angel touches those swift 
keys, 
What loud lament and dismal Misereres 
Will mingle with their awful sympho- 
nies ! 

I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus, 
The cries of agony, the endless groan 

Which, through the ages that have gone 
before us, 
In long reverberations reach our own. 

On helm and harness rings the Saxon ham- 
mer, 
Through Cimbric forest roars the Norse- 
man's song, 
And loud, amid the clamor, 

O'er distant deserts sounds the Tartar 
gong. 

I hear the Florentine, who from his palace 
Wheel out his battle-bell with dreadful 
din, 
And Aztec priests upon their teocallis 

Beat the wild war-drums made of ser- 
pents' skin; 

The tumult of each sacked and burning vil- 
lage ; 
The shout that every prayer for mercy 
' drowns ; . 
The soldier's revels in the midst of pillage ; 
The wail of famine in beleaguered towns ; 

The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched 
asunder, 

The rattling musketry, the clashing blade ; 
And ever and anon, in tones of thunder, 

The diapason of the cannonade. 

Is it, O man, with such discordant noises 
With such accursed instruments as these, 

Thou drownest nature's sweet and kindly 
voices, 
And j arrest the celestial harmonies ? 

Were half the power, that fills the world 
with terror, 
Were half the wealth, bestowed on camps 
and courts, 
Given to redeem the human mind from 
error, 
There were no need of arsenals or forts : 



The warrior's name would be a name 
abhorred ! 
And every nation, that should lift again 
Its hand against a brother, on its forehead 
Would wear for evermore the -curse of 
Cain. 

Down the dark future, through long gene- 
rations, 
The echoing sands grow fainter and then 
cease ; 
And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibra- 
tions, 
I hear the voice of Christ say, " Peace ! ' ' 

Peace ! and no longer from its brazen por- 
tals 
The blast of War's great organ shakes the 
skies ! 
But beautiful as songs of the immortals, 
The holy melodies of love arise. 

Longfellow. 



THE LAST LEAF 

I saw him once before, 
As he passed by tne door ; 
And again 
The pavement stones resound, 
As he totters o'er the ground 
With his cane. 

But now he walks the streets, 
And he looks at all he meets 

So forlorn ; 
And he shakes his feeble head, 
That it seems as if he said, 

" They are gone." 

The mossy marbles rest 

On the lips that he has pressed 

In their bloom ; 
And the names he loved to hear 
Have been carved for many a year 

On the tomb. 

My grandmamma has said — 
Poor old lady ! she is dead 

Long ago — 
That he had a Roman nose, 
A.nd his cheek was like a rose 

In the snow. 



43° 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



They say that in his prime, 
Ere the priming-knife of time 

Cut him down , 
Not a better man was found 
By the crier on his round 

Through the town. 

But now his nose is thin 
And it rests upon his chin, 

Like a staff , 
And a crook is in his back, 
And a melancholy crack 

In his laugh. 

I know it is a sin 
For me to sit and grin 

At him here, 
But the old three-cornered hat, 
And the breeches, — and all that 

Are so queer ! 

And if I should live to be 
The last leaf upon the tree 

In the spring, 
Let them smile, as I do now, 
At the old forsaken bough 

Where I cling. 
Oliver Wendell Holmes. 



for we are in the sweep of his influence. 
We think on what he says, not on how he 
ssys it.' We lose sight of the speaker, we 
are occupied only with his subject. 

Archbishop Fenelon. 



CICERO AND DEMOSTHENES COMPARED. 

To me Demosthenes seems superior to 
Cicero. I yield to no one in my ad- 
miration of the latter. He adorns 
whatever he touches. He lends honor to 
speech. He uses words as no one else can 
use them . His versatility is beyond descrip- 
tion. He is even concise and vehement 
when disposed to be so, as against Catiline, 
against Verres, against Antony. But we 
detect the embellishments in his discourses. 
The art is marvelous, but it is not hidden. 
The orator does not, in his concern for the 
republic, forget himself, nor does he allow 
himself to be forgotten. 

Demosthenes, on the contrary, seems to 
lose all consciousness of himself, and to 
recognize only his country. He does not 
seek the beautiful ; he unconsciously creates 
it. He is superior to admiration. He uses 
language as a modest man uses his gar- 
ment — for a covering. ' He thunders, he 
lightens ; he is like a torrent hurrying 
all before it. We cannot criticize him, 



BRUTUS OVER THE BODY OF LUCRETIA 

Dramatic and impassioned. The story of Lucretia's death 
should be read in Roman history, and the speaker appreciate 
the circumstances and enter fully into the spirit of the occasion. 

Thus, thus, my friends, fast as our break- 
ing hearts 
Permitted utterance, we have told our 
story. 
And now, to say one word of the imposture, 
The mask necessity has made me wear. 
When the ferocious malice of your king — 
King do I call him ? — when the monster, 

Tarquin, 
Slew, as you, most of you, may well remem- 
ber, 
My father, Marcus, and my elder brother, 
Envying at once their virtues and their 

wealth, 
How could I hope a shelter from his power 
But in the false face I have worn so long ? 
Would you know why Brutus has sum- 
moned you ? 
Ask ye what brings him here ? Behold 

this dagger, 
Clotted with gore ! Behold that frozen 

corse ! 
See where the lost Lucretia sleeps in death ! 
She was the mark and model of the time ; 
The mould in which each female grace was 

formed, 
The very shrine and sacristy of virtue ! 
The worthiest of the worthy ! Not the 

nymph 
Who met old Numa in his hallowed walk, 
And whispered in his ear her strains divine, 
Can I conceive beyond her ! The young 

choir 
Of vestal virgins bent to her ! O, my 

countrymen, 
You all can witness that when she went 

forth, 
It was a holiday in Rome. Old age 
Forgot its crutch, labor its task ; all ran ; 
And mothers, turning to their daughters, 

cried, 
' ' There, there's Lucretia ! " Now look ye 

where she lies. 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



43i 



That beauteous flower, that innocent, sweet 

rose, 
Torn up by ruthless violence !— gone, 

gone ! 
Say, would ye seek instruction ? would ye 

seek 
What ye should do ? Ask ye yon conscious 

walls, 
And they will cry, Revenge ! 
Ask yon deserted street, where Tullia 

drove 
O'er her dead father's corse ; 'twill cry, 

Revenge ! 
Ask yonder senate house whose stones are 

purple 
With human blood, and it will cry, 

Revenge ! 
Go to the tomb of Tarquin's murdered 

wife, 
And the poor queen who loved him as her 

son — 
Their unappeased ghosts will shriek Re- 
venge ! 
The temples of the gods, the all viewing 

heavens, 
The gods themselves shall justify the cry, 
And swell the general sound — Revenge ! 

Revenge ! 

J. H. Paynk. 



ONLY THE CLOTHES SHE WORE. 

THKRB is the hat 
With the blue veil thrown 'iound it, 

just as they found it, 
Spotted and soiled, stained and all 
spoiled — 
Do you recognize that ? 

The gloves, too, lie there, 
And in them still lingers the shape of her 

fingers, 
That some one has pressed, perhaps, and 
caressed, 
So slender and fair. 



There is the dress, 
Like the blue veil, all dabbled, discolored 

and drabbled — 
This you should know without doubt, and, 
if so, 
All else you may guess. 

There is the shawl, 
With the striped border, hung next in 

order, 
Soiled hardly less than the 'white muslin 
dress, 
And — that is all. 

Ah, here is a ring 
We were forgetting, with a pearl setting ; 
There was only this one — name or date ? — 



none 



? 



A frail, pretty thing ; 

A keepsake, maybe, 
The gift of another, perhaps a brother, 
Or lover, who knows ? him her heart chose, 

Or was she heart-free ? 

Does the hat there, 
With the blue veil around it, the same as 

they found it, 
Summon up a fair face with just a trace 

Of gold in the hair ? 

Or does the shawl, 
Mutely appealing to some hidden feeling, 
A form, young and slight, to your mind's 
sight 

Clearly recall ? 

A month now has passed, 
And her sad history remains yet a mystery, 
But these we keep still, and shall keep them 
until 

Hope dies at last. 

Was she a prey 
Of some deep sorrow clouding the morrow. 
Hiding from view the sky's happy blue ? 

Or was there foul play ? 



There are the shoes, 
With their long silken laces, still bearing 

traces, 
To the toe's dainty trip, of the mud of the 
slip, 
The slime and the ooze. 



Alas ! who may tell ? 
Some one or other, perhaps a fond mother. 
May recognize these when her child's 
clothes she sees ; 
Then— will it be well ? 

N. G. Shepherd 



432 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



SCHOOLING A HUSBAND. 

Mrs. Centre was jealous. She was one 
of those discontented women who 
are never satisfied unless something 
goes wrong. When the sky is bright and 
pleasant they are annoyed because there is 
nothing to grumble at. The trouble is not 
with the outward world , but with the heart, 
the mind : and every one who wishes to 
grumble will find a subject. 

Mrs. Centre was jealous. Her husband 
was a very good sort of person, though he 
probably had his peculiarities . At any rate, 
he had a cousin, whose name was Sophia 
Smithers, and who was very pretty, very 
intelligent, and very amiable and kind- 
hearted. I dare say he occasionally made 
her a social call, to which his wife solemnly 
and seriously objected, for the reason that 
Sophia was pretty, intelligent, amiable, and 
kind-hearted. These were the sum total of 
her sins. 

Centre and his wife boarded at a private 
establishment at the South end of Boston. 
At the same house also boarded Centre's 
particular, intimate, and confidential friend, 
Wallis, with his wife. Their rooms might 
almost be said to be common ground, for 
the two men and the two women were 
constantly together. 

Wallis could not help observing that Mrs. 
Centre watched her husband very closely, 
and Centre at last confessed that there had 
been some difficulty. So they talked the 
matter over together, and came to the con- 
clusion that it was very stupid for any one 
to be jealous, most of all for Mrs. Centre to 
be jealous. What they did I don't know, 
but one evening Centre entered the room, 
and found Mrs. Wallis there. 

" My dear, I am obliged to go out a few 
moments to call upon a friend, ' ' said Centre. 

" To call upon a friend ! " sneered Mrs. 
Centre. 

' ' Yes, my dear, I shall be back presently ; ' ' 
and Mr. Centre left the room. 

"The old story," said she, when he had 
gone. 

"If it was my husband I would follow 
him," said Mrs. Wallis. 

' ' I will ! ' ' and she immediately put on her 
bonnet and shawl. " Sophia Smithers lives 
very near, and I am sure he is going there." 



Centre had gone up stairs to put on his 
hat and overcoat, and in a moment she saw 
him on the stairs. She could not mistake 
him, for there was no other gentleman in 
the house who wore such a peculiarly 
shaped Kossuth as he wore. 

He passed out, and Mrs. Centre passed 
out after him. She followed the queer 
shaped Kossuth of her husband, and it led 

her to C Street, where she had suspected 

it would lead her. And further, it led her to 
the house of Smithers, the father of Sophia, 
where she suspected also it would lead ber. 

Mrs. Centre was very unhappy. Her 
husband had ceased to love her ; he loved 
another; he loved Sophia Smithers. She 
could have torn the pretty, intelligent, 
amiable, and kind-hearted cousin of her 
husband in pieces at that moment ; but she 
had the fortitude to curb her belligerent 
tendencies, and ring the door-bell. 

She was shown into the sitting-room, 
where the beautiful girl of many virtues 
was engaged in sewing. 

" Is my husband here ? " she demanded. 

"Mr. Centre? Bless you, no! He 
hasn't been here for a month." 

Gracious ! What a whopper ! Was it 
true that she whose multitudinous qualities 
had been so often rehearsed to her could tell 
a lie? Hadn't she seen the peculiar Kos- 
suth of her husband enter that door? 
Hadn't she followed that unmistakable hat 
to the house ? 

She was amazed at the coolness of her 
husband's fair cousin. Before, she had 
believed it was only a flirtation. Now, she 
was sure it was something infinitely worse, 
and she thought about a divorce, or at least 
a separation. 

She was astounded, and asked no more 
questions. Did the guilty pair hope to 
deceive her — her, the argus-eyed wife ? She 
had some shrewdness, and she had the 
cunning to conceal her purpose by refrain- 
ing from any appearance of distrust. After 
a few words upon commonplace topics, she 
took her leave. 

When she reached the sidewalk, there she 
planted herself, determined to wait till 
Centre came out. For more than an hour 
she stood there, nursing the yellow demon 
of jealousy. He came not. While she, 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



433 



the true, faithful, and legal wife of Centre, 
was waiting on the cold pavement, shiver- 
ing in the cold blast of autumn, he was 
folded in the arms of the black-hearted 
Sophia, before a comfortable coal- fire. 

She was catching her death a-cold. What 
did he care — the brute ! He was bestowing 
his affections upon her who had no legal 
right to them. 

The wind blew, and it began to rain. 
She could stand it no longer. She should 
die before she got the divorce, and that was 
just what the inhuman Centre would wish 
her to do. She must preserve her precious 
life for the present, and she reluctantly con- 
cluded to go home. Centre had not come 
out, and it required a struggle for her to 
forego the exposure of the nefarious scheme. 

She rushed into the house, — into her 
room. Mrs. Wallis was there still. Throw- 
ing herself upon the sofa, she wept like a 
great baby. Her friend tried to comfort 
her, but she was firmly resolved not to be 
comforted. In vain Mrs. Wallis tried to 
assure her of the fidelity of her husband. 
She would not listen to the words. But 
while she was thus weeping, Mr. Centre 
entered the room, looking just as though 
nothing had happened. 

" You wretch ! " sobbed the lady. 

"What is the matter, my dear?" coolly 
inquired the gentleman, for he had not 
passed through the battle and storm of 
matrimonial warfare without being able to 
"stand fire.'"' 

" You wretch ! " repeated the lady, with 
compound unction. 

' ' What has happened ? ' ' 

" You insult me, abuse me, and then ask 
what the matter is ! " cried the lady. 

Street 
out of 
Smithers' house? " 

' ' Have you ? ' ' 

" I have, you wretch ! " 

" And I did not come out ? " 

" No ! You know you didn't ! " 

" There was an excellent reason for that, 
my dear. I wasn't there," said Centre, 
calmly. 

" You weren't there, you wretch ! How 
dare you tell me such an abominable lie ! 
But I have found you out. You go there 
26 



me 

" Haven't I been waiting in C 

for two hours for you to come 



every day, yes, twice, three times, a day! 
I know your amiable cousin, now ! She 
can lie as well as you ! ' ' 

" Sophia tell a lie ! Oh, no, my dear ! " 

"But she did. She said you were not 
there." 

" That was very true ; I was not." 

' ' How dare you tell me such a lie ! You 
have been with Sophia all the evening. 
She is a nasty baggage ! ' ' 

" Nay, Mrs. Centre, you are mistaken," 
interposed Mrs. Wallis. "Mr. Centre has 
been with me in this room all the evening." 

"What! didn't I see him go out, and 
follow him to C Street ? ' ' 

No, my dear, I haven't been out this 
evening. I changed my mind." 

Just then Wallis entered the room with 
that peculiar Kossuth on his head, and the 
mystery was explained. Mrs. Centre was 
not a little confused, and very much 
ashamed of herself. 

Wallis had been in Smithers' library 
smoking a cigar, and had not seen Sophia. 
Her statement that she had not seen Centre 
for a month was strictly true, and Mrs. 
Centre was obliged to acknowledge that she 
had been jealous without a cause, though 
she was not " let into " the plot of Wallis. 

But Centre should have known better 
than to tell his wife what a pretty, intelli- 
gent, amiable, and kind-hearted girl Sophia 
was. No husband should speak well of any 
lady but his wife. 



" THEM YANKEE BLANKITS " 

" If your enemy hunger feed him." How kindness turned an 
enemy into a friend. 

YES, John, I was down thar at Memphis, 
A-workin' around at the boats, 
A-heavin' o' cotton with emph'sis 
An' loadin' her onter the floats. 
I was comin' away from Ole Texas, 

Whar I went, you know, arter the wah — 
'Bout it now I'll make no reflexes, 
But wait till I get ter long taw. 

Well, while I was down thar, the fever, 

As yaller an' pizen as sin, 
Broke out ; an' ef you'll beleeve her, 

Wharever she hit she struck in ! 



454 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



It didn't take long in the hatchin', 

It jes' fa'rly bred in the air, 
Till a hospittel camp warn't a patchin' 

An' we'd plenty o' corpses to spare. 

I volunteer'd then with the Howards, — 

I thought that my duty was clear, — 
An' I didn't look back'ards, but for'ards, 

An' went ter my work 'ithout fear. 
One day, howsomever, she got me 

As quick as the shot of a gun, 
An' they toted me off ter allot me 

A bunk till my life-race was run. 

The doctor and nurses they wrestled, 

But it didn't do me any good ; 
An' the drugger he pounded and pestled, 

But he didn't get up the right food. 
" No blankits ner ice in the city ! " — 

I hear'd 'em say that from my bed, — 
An' some cried, " O God ! whole take pity 
On the dyin' that soon '11 be dead ? " 

Next day, howsomever, the doctor 

Came in with a smile on his brow. 
"Old boy, jest as yit we hain't knocked 
her," 

Said he, " but we'll do fer her now ! " 
Fer, yer see, John, them folks ter the 
Nor'ward 

Hed hear'd us afore we call'd twice, 
An' they'd sent us a full cargo forward 

Of them much-needed blankits an' ice ! 

Well, brother, I've been mighty solid 

Agin' Yankees, yer know, since the wah, 

An' agin reconstrucktin ' was stolid, 
Not kearin' fer Kongriss ner law ; 

But, John, I got onder that kiver, 
That God-blessed gift o' the Yanks, 

An' it sav'd me from fordin' " the river," 

An' I'm pray in' 'em oceans o' thanks ! 

I tell yer, old boy, thar's er streak in us 
Old Rebels an ' Yanks thet is warm ; 

It's er brotherly love that'll speak in us, 
An' fetch us together in storm . 

We may snarl about "niggers an' fran- 
cheese," 

But whenever thar's sufferin' afoot, 

The two trees '11 unite in the branches 
The same as they do at the root ! 

Samuel W. Small. 



THE KISS IN THE TUNNEL 

Thky were sitting five seats back, but 1 
plainly heard the smack, 
As we dashed into the tunnel near the 
town, 
And the currents of my veins ran like gush- 
April rains, 
Though I'm grave and gray and wear a 
doctor's gown. 

Once — alas ! so long ago — on the rails I 
journeyed so, 
With a maiden in a jaunty Jersey sack, 
And I kissed her with my eyes, as the timid 
stars the skies, 
But I longed, oh, how I longed ! for one 
real smack ! 

Did she know it ? I dare say ! (She'd a 
a sweet clairvoyant way 
In the glancing of her eyes so bright and 
blue.) 
Ne'er a bee such honey sips as the nectar on 
her lips ; 
But I longed, in vain, as on we flew. 

Just as yearning reached its height, lo! there 
came a sudden night, 
And like steel to magnet clove my mouth 
to hers ! 
I shall never more forget how like drops of 
rain they met, 
In the bosom of a rose that lightly stirs ! 

When we came again to light, both our 

faces had turned white — 
White as clouds that float in summer from 

the South. 
Missed I glances, missed I smiles ! but on 

air I rode for miles, 
With the sweetness of love's dew upon my 

mouth. 

So the kiss that some one stole, in the ray- 
less Stygian hole, 
While with loud imprisoned clangor on 
we rushed. 
Caused the sluggish streams of age, with 

young madness leap and rage — 
And my wife restored to daylight, laughed 
and blushed. 

Detroit Free Press. 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



435 



UGLY SAH 

HE had been missing from the " Po- 
tomac " for several days, and Cleve- 
land Tom, Port Huron Bill, Tall 
Chicago, and the rest of the boys who were 
wont to get drunk with him could not make 
out what had happened . They hadn ' t heard 
that there was a warrant out for him, had 
never known of his been sick for a day, and 
his absence from the old haunts puzzled 
them. They were in the Hole in-the-Wall 
saloon yesterday morning, nearly a dozen of 
them, drinking smoking and playing cards, 
when in walked Ugly Sam. 

There was a deep silence for a moment as 
they looked at him. Sam had a new hat, 
had been shaved clean, had on a clean col- 
lar and a white shirt, and they didn't know 
him at first. When they saw it was ugly 
Sam they uttered a shout and leaped up. 

" Cave in that hat ! " cried one. 

' ' Yank that collar off ! ' ' shouted another. 

' ' I^ets roll him on the floor ! ' ' screamed a 
third. 

There was something in his look and 
bearing that made them hesitate. The 
whiskey -red had almost faded from his face, 
and he looked sober and dignified. His 
features expressed disgust and contempt as 
he looked around the room, and then re- 
vealed pity as his eye fell upon the red 
eyes and bloated faces of the crowd before 
him. 

"Why, what ails ye, Sam?" inquired 
Tall Chicago, as they all stood there. 

" Ive come down to bid you good-by, 
boys! " he replied, removing his hat and 
drawing a clean handkerehief from his 
pocket. 

' ' What ! Hev ye turned preacher ? ' ' 
they shouted in chorus. 

" Boys, ye know I can lick any two of 
ye, but I'm not on the fight any more, and 
I've put down the last drop of whiskey 
which is ever to go into my mouth. I've 
switched off. I've taken an oath. I'm 
going to be decent ! ' ' 

' ' Sam, be you crazy ? ' ' asked Port Huron 
Bill, coming nearer to him. 

" I've come down here to tell you all 
about it," answered Sam. "Move the 
chairs back a little and give me room. Ye 
all know I've been rough' and more too. 



I've been a drinker, a fighter, a gambler and 
a loafer. I can't look back and remember 
when I've earned an honest dollar. The 
police has chased me round like a wolf, and 
I've been in jail and the workhouse, and 
the papers hez said that Ugly Sam was the 
terror of the Potomac. Ye all know this, 
boys, but ye didn't know that I had an old 
mother." 

The faces of the crowd expressed amaze- 
ment. 

" I've never mentioned it to any of ye, 
for I was neglecting her," he went on. 
' ' She was a poor old body, living up here 
in the alley, and if the neighbors hadn't 
helped her to fuel and food she'd have been 
found dead long ago. I never helped her 
to a cent — didn't see her for weeks and 
weeks, and I used to feel mean about it. 
When a feller goes back on his old mother 
he's a-gettin' purty low, and I know it. 
Well, she's dead — buried yesterday. I was 
up there afore she died. She sent for me 
by Pete, and when I got there I seen it was 
all day with her." 

" Dii she say anything ? " asked one of 
the boys, as Sam hesitated. 

" That's what ails me now," he went on. 
" When I went in she reached out her hand 
to me, and says she, : Samuel I'm going to 
die, and I know'd you'd want to see me 
afore I passed away.' I sat down feeling 
queer-like. She didn't go on and say as 
how I was a loafer, and had neglected her, 
and all that ; but says she, ' Samuel, you'll 
be all alone when I'm gone. I've tried to 
be a good mother to you and have prayed 
for you hundreds o' nights, and cried for 
you till my old heart was sore ! ' Some of 
the neighbors had dropped in and the 
women were crying, and I'll tell you, boys, 
I felt weak." 

He paused for a moment and then con- 
tinued : 

" And the old woman said she'd like to 
kiss me afore death came, and that broke 
me right down. She kept hold of my hand, 
and by and by she whispered , ' Samuel, you 
are throwing your life away. You've got 
it in you to be a man if you'll only make 
up your mind. I hate to die and feel that 
my only son and the last of .the family may 
go to the gallows. If I had your promise 



436 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



that you would turn over a new leaf, and 
try and be good, it seems as though I'd die 
easier. Won't you promise me, my son ? ' 
And I promised her, boys, and that's what 
ails me ! She died holding my hand and I 
promised to quit this low business and to go 
to work. I came down to tell ye, and now 
you won't see me on the Potomac again. 
I've bought an ax, and am going up to 
Canada to winter." 

There was a dead silence for a moment, 
and then he said : 

" Well, boys, I'll shake hands with you 
all around afore I go . Good-by , Pete — good- 
by, Jack — Tom — Jim. I hope ye won't 
fling any bricks at me, and I shan't never 
fling any at ye. It's a dying promise, ye 
see, and I'll keep it if it takes a right arm." 

The men looked reflectively at one another 
after he had passed out, and it was a long 
time before any one spoke. Then Tall 
Chicago flung his clay pipe into a corner, 
and said : 

" I'll whip the man who says Ugly Sam's 
head isn't level /" 

" So'll I ! " replied all the others. 



WILL NEW YEAR COflE TO=NIGHT. 



Pathetic reading suitable to New Year 



s entertainment. 



Will the New Year come to-night 
mamma ? I'm tired of waiting so, 
My stocking hung by the chimney 
side full three long days ago. 
I run to peep within the door, by morning's 

early light, 
'Tis empty still — Oh, say, mamma, will 
New Year come to-night ? 

Will the New Year come to-night, mamma ? 

the snow is on the hill, 
The ice must be two inches thick upon the 

meadow rill. 
I heard you tell papa last night, his son 

must have a sled, 
(I didn't mean to hear, mamma), and a 

pair of skates you said. 

I prayed for just those things, mamma, oh, 

I shall be full of glee, 
And the orphan boys in the village school 

will all be envying me ; 



But I'll give them toys, and lend them 
books, and make their New Year glad, 

For, God, you say, takes back his gifts 
when little folks are bad. 

And wont you let me go, m^mma, upon 

the New Year's day, 
And carry something nice and warm to 

poor old widow Gray ? 
I'll leave the basket near the door, within 

the garden gate, — 
Will the New Year come to-night, mamma ? 

it seems so long to wait. 

The New Year comes to-night, mamma, I 

saw it in my sleep, 
My stocking hung so full, I thought — 

mamma, what makes you weep ? 
But it only held a little shroud — a shroud 

and nothing more : 
An open coffin — open for me — was standing 

on the floor. 

It seemed so very strange, indeed, to find 
such gifts instead 

Of all the toys I wished so much, the story- 
book and sled ; 

But while I wondered what it meant, you 
came with tearful joy 

And said, " Thou'lt find the New Year 
first ; God calleth thee, my boy ! ' ' 

It is not all a dream, mamma, I know it 

must be true ; 
But have I been so bad a boy God taketh 

me from you ? 
I don't know what papa will do when I am 

laid to rest,— 
And you will have no Willie's head to fold 

upon your breast. 

The New Year comes to-night, mamma, — 

your cold hand on my cheek, 
And raise my head a little more — it seems 

so hard to speak ; 
You need not fill my stocking now, I can 

not go and peep, 
Before to-morrow's sun is up, I'll be so 

sound asleep. 

I shall not want the skates, mamma, I'll 

never need the sled ; 
But wont you give them both to Blake, who 

hurt me on my head ? 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



437 



He used to hide my books away, and tear 

the pictures too, 
But now he'll know that I forgive, as then 

I tried to do. 

And, if you please, mamma, I'd like the 

story-book and slate, 
To go to Frank, the drunkard's boy, you 

would not let me hate ; 
And, dear mamma, you wont forget, upon 

the New Year day, 
The basket full of something nice for poor 

old widow Gray ? 

The New Year comes to-night, mamma, it 

seems so very soon, 
I think God didn't hear me ask for just 

another June ; 
I know I've been a thoughtless boy, and 

made you too much care, 
And may be for your sake, mamma, 

He doesn't hear my prayer. 

It can not be ; but you will keep the 

summer flowers green, 
And plant a few — don't cry, mamma — a 

very few I mean, 
When I'm asleep, I'd sleep so sweet beneath 

the apple tree, 
Where you and robin, in the morn, may 

come and sing to me. 

The New Year comes — good night, mamma 

— " I lay me down to sleep, 
I pray the Lord" — tell poor papa — "my 

soul to keep ; 
If I ' ' — how cold it seems — how dark — kiss 

me, I can not see — 
The New Year comes to-night, mamma, the 

old year — dies with me. 

Cora M. Eager. 



SUPPOSED SPEECH OF REQULUS. 

Descriptive and Dramatic. 

The part attributed to Regulus should be delivered with great 
dignity and scorn. 

THE palaces and domes of Carthage were 
burning with the splendors of noon, 
andjthe blue waves of her harbor were 
rolling and gleaming in the gorgeous sun- 
light An attentive ear could catch a low 
murmur, sounding from the centre of the 
city, which seemed like the moaning of the 



wind before a tempest. And well it might. 
The whole people of Carthage, startled, 
astounded by the report that Regulus had 
returned, were pouring, a mighty tide, into 
the great square before the Senate House, a 
great outpouring of the populace. 

There were mothers in that throng whose 
captive sons were groaning in Roman fetters; 
maidens, whose lovers were dying in the 
distant dungeons of Rome ; gray-haired 
men and matrons, whom Roman steel had 
made childless ; men, who were seeing their 
country's life crushed out by Roman power ; 
and with wild voices, cursing and groaning, 
the vast throng gave vent to the rage, the 
hate, the anguish of long years. 

Calm and unmoved as the marble walls 
around him, stood Regulus, the Roman. 
He stretched his arm over the surging crowd 
with a gesture as proudly imperious, as 
though he stood at the head of his own 
gleaming cohorts. Before that silent com- 
mand the tumult ceased — the half-uttered 
execration died upon the lip — so intense was 
the silence that the clank of the captive's 
brazen manacles smote sharp on every ear 
as he thus addressed them : 

"Ye doubtless thought, judging of 
Roman virtue by your own, that I would 
break my plighted faith, rather than by 
returning, and leaving your sons aud 
brothers to rot in Roman dungeons, to meet 
your vengeance. Well, I could give reasons 
for this return, foolish and inexplicable as 
it seems to you ; I could speak of yearnings 
after immortality — of those eternal principles 
in whose pure light a patriots death is 
glorious, a thing to be desired ; but, by 
great Jove ! I should debase myself to dwell 
on such high themes to you. If the bright 
blood which feeds my heart were like the 
the slimy ooze that stagnates in your veins, 
I should have remained at Rome, saved my 
life and broken my oath. 

"If, then, you ask, why I have come 
back, to let you work your will on this poor 
body, which I esteem but as the rags that 
cover it, — enough reply for you, it is because 
I am a Roman ! As such , here in your very 
capital I defy you ! What I have done, ye 
never can undo ; what ye may do I care not. 
Since first my young arm knew how to 
wield a Roman sword, have I not routed 



43* 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



your armies, burned your towns, and 
dragged your generals at my chariot wheels ? 
And do ye now expect to see me cower and 
whine with dread of Carthaginian ven- 
geance ? Compared to that fierce mental 
strife which my heart has just passed 
through at Rome, the piercing of this flesh, 
the rending of the sinews would be but 
sport to me. 

" Venerable senators, with trembling 
voices and outstretched hands besought me 
to return no more to Carthage. The gen- 
erous people, with loud wailing and wildly- 
tossing gestures bid me stay. The voice of 
a beloved mother, — her withered hands 
beating her breast, her gray hairs streaming 
in the wind, tears flowing down her furrowed 
cheeks — praying me not to leave her in her 
lonely and helpless old age, is still sound- 
ing in my ears. Compared to anguish 
like this, the paltry torments you have 
in store is as the murmur of the meadow 
brook to the wild tumult of the mountain 
storm. 

" Go ! bring your threatened tortures ! 
The woes I see impending over this fated 
city will be enough to sweeten death, though 
every nerve should tingle with its agony. 
I die, but mine shall be the triumph ; yours 
the untold desolation. For every drop of 
blood that falls from my veins, your own 
shall pour in torrents ! Woe unto thee, O 
Carthage ? I see thy homes and temples all 
in flames, thy citizens in terror, thy women 
wailing for the dead. Proud city ! thou art 
doomed ! the curse of Jove, a living lasting 
curse is on thee ! The hungry waves shall 
lick the golden gates of thy rich palaces, 
and every brook run crimson to the sea. 
Rome, with bloody hand, shall sweep thy 
heartstrings, and all thy homes shall howl 
in wild response of anguish to her touch. 
Proud mistress of the sea, disrobed, un- 
crowned, and scourged — thus again do I 
devote thee to the infernal gods ! 

' ' Now, bring forth your tortures ! Slaves ! 
while you tear this quivering flesh, remem- 
ber how often Regulus has beaten your 
armies and humbled your pride. Cut as he 
would have carved you ! Burn deep as his 
curse ! You may slay Regulus, but cannot 
conquer him." 

Elijah Kellogg. 



NELL 

Pathetic. 

You're a kind woman, Nan, ay kind and 
true ! 
God will be good to faithful folk like 
you ! 
You knew my Ned ! 

A better, kinder lad never drew breath. 
We loved each other true, and we were 
wed 
In church, like some who took him to his 
death ; 
A lad as gentle as a lamb, but lost 
His senses when he took a drop to much. 
Drink did it all — drink made him mad 
when crossed — 

He was a poor man, and they're hard on 
such. 
O Nan ! that night ! that night ! 
When I was sitting in this very chair, 

Watching and waiting in the candlelight, 
And heard his foot come creaking up the 
stair, 
And turned, and saw him standing yon- 
der, white 
And wild, with staring eyes and rumpled 
hair ! 
And when I caught his arm and called in 
fright, 
He pushed me, swore, and to the door he 

passed 
To lock and bar it fast. 

Then down he drops just like a lump of 
lead 
Holding his brow, shaking, and growing 

whiter, 
And — Nan ! — just then the light seemed 

growing brighter, 
And I could see the hands that held his 

head, 
All red ! all bloody red ! 

What could I do but scream ? He 
groaned to hear, 
Jumped to his feet and gripped me by the 

wrist ; 
" Be still, or I shall kill thee, Nell ! " he 
hissed. 
And I was still, for fear. 
" They're after me — I've knifed a man ! " 
he said. 
' ' Be still ! — the drink — drink did it ! — he 
is dead ! ' ' 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



439 



Then we grew still, dead still. I couldn't 

weep ; 
All I could do was cling to Ned and hark, 
And Ned was cold, cold, cold, as if asleep, 
But breathing hard and deep. 

The candle flickered out — the room grew 

dark — 
And — Nan ! — although my heart was true 

and tried — 
When all grew cold and dim, 
I shuddered — not for fear of them outside, 

But just afraid to be alone with him. 
1 ' Ned ! Ned ! " I whispered — and he 

moaned and shook, 
But did not heed or look ! 
" Ned ! Ned ! speak, lad ! tell me it is not 

true ! ' ' 
At that he raised his head and looked so 

wild ; 
Then, with a stare that froze my blood, he 

threw 
His arms around me, crying like a child, 
And held me close — and not a word was 

spoken, 
While I clung tighter to his heart, and 

pressed him, 
And did not fear him , though my heart was 

broken, 
But kissed his poor stained hands, and 

cried, and blessed him. 

Then, Nan, the dreadful daylight, coming 

cold 
With sound o' falling rain — 
When I could see his face, and it looked 

old, 
Like the pinched face of one that dies in 

pain ; 
Well, though we heard folk stirring in the 

sun, 
We never thought to hide away or run, 
Until we heard those voices in the street, 
That hurrying of feet. 
And Ned leaped up, and knew that they 

had come. 
" Run, Ned ! " I cried, but he was deaf and 

dumb ! 
" Hide, Ned ! " I screamed, and held him ; 

"Hide thee, man ! " 
He stared with bloodshot eyes, and heark- 
ened, Nan ! 
And all the rest is like a dream — the sound 
Of knocking at the door — 



A rush of men — a struggle on the ground — 

A mist — a tramp — a roar ; 
For when I got my senses back again, 
The room was empty — and my head went 
round ! 

God help him ? God will help him ! Ay, 
no fear ! 
It was the drink, not Ned — he meant no 
wrong ; 
So kind ! so good ! — and I am useless here, 
Now he is lost that loved me true and 
long. 
. . . That night before he died, 
I didn't cry — my heart was hard and dried ; 
But when the clocks went " one," I took 
my shawl 
To cover up my face, and stole away, 
And walked along the silent streets, where 
all 
Looked cold and still and gray, 
And on I went and stood in Leicester 

Square, 
But just as " three " was sounded close at 
hand 
I started and turned east, before I knew, 
Then down Saint Martin's Lane, along the 
Strand, 
And through the toll-gate on to Waterloo. 

Some men and lads went by, 

And turning round, I gazed, and watched 
'em go, 
Then felt that they were going to see him 
die, 
And drew my shawl more tight, and 
followed slow, 
More people passed me, a country cart with 
hay 
Stopped close beside me, and two or three 
Talked about it ! I moaned and crept away ! 
Next came a hollow sound I knew full 
well, 
For something gripped me. round* the 
heart — and then 
There came the solemn tolling of a bell ! 
O God ! O God ! how could I sit close by, 
And neither scream nor cry ? 
As if I had been stone, all hard and cold, 
I listened, listened, listened, still and 
dumb, 
While the folk murmured, and the death- 
bell tolled. 



440 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



And the day brightened, and his time had 

come, 
Till — Nan ! — all else was silent, but the 

knell 
Of the slow bell ! 

And I could only wait, and wait, and 
wait, 
And what I waited for I couldn't tell — 
At last there came a groaning deep and 

great — 
Saint Paul's struck " eight " — 
I screamed, and seemed to turn to fire, and 
fell! 

Robert Buchanan. 






THE LIGHTKEEPER'S DAUGHTER. 

The pale moon hid her face ; the glitter- 
ing stars 
Retired above the blackness of the night. 
The wild winds moaned, as if some human 

soul 
In fetters bound was struggling to be free ; 
The ocean leaped and swayed his long white 

arms 
Up in the darkness with a sullen roar. 
Across the heavy gloom of night there came 
The faint light from the tower, and when 

the moon 
Peeped from her floating veil of clouds, she 

sent 
A gleam across the waters, rushing mad. 

Against the angry sky 
The lighthouse stood, whose beacon light 

foretold 
The danger to bold ships that neared the 

rocks 
While daylight slept. 

In the tower by the sea, there all alone, 
The keeper's pretty daughter trimmed the 

lamp, 
And as the water sparkled in the light, 
"God save the sailors on the sea," she 

prayed ; 
' The night is wild ; my father gone, and 

near 
Are rocks which vessels wreck when storms 

are high ; 
I will not sleep, but watch beside the light, 
For some may call for help." 



And so she sat 
Beside the window o'er the sea, and scanned 
With large dark eyes the troubled water's 

foam, 
Unheeding as the wind her tresses tossed, 
Or spray baptized her brow. 

A muffled sound 
Trembles upon the air, above the storm ; 
Why strain her eager eyes far in the night ? 
Was it the wind, or but the ocean's heart 
Beating against the cliffs ? 

Ah, no ! Ah, no ! 
It was the signal-gun — the cry for help S 
Now seen, now lost, the lights upon the 

ship 
Glimmer above the wave. 
Her inmost soul with anguish stirred, sobs 

out, 
' ' A vessel on the rocks, and none to save ! ' ' 
Again that far, faint death-knell of the 

doomed 
Upon her young heart falls. ' ' They shall 

not die ! 
I rescue them, or perish in their grave ! " 
Her strong arms, nerved by heart long 

trained 
To suffer and to dare for highest good, 
Conquers in spite of warring elements ; 
The boat is launched ; one instant does she 

pause 
And lift her soul in prayer. 'Tis silent, 
But angels hear, and bear it on their wings 
To the All-Father, and the strength comes 

down. 

The wind howls loud ; the cruel, sullen 
waves 
Toss the frail bark as children toss a toy ; 
All nature tries to baffle one brave soul 
As, beautiful and bold, she still toils on, 
Unheeding all except one thought, one hope. 

She nears the vessel, beating 'gainst the 

rocks ; 
A wave sweeps o'er her, but her heart is 

stayed 
By cries for ' ' help ' ' from hearts half dead 

with fear ; 
Upon the tossing ship they watch and pray, 
While nearer draws deliverance. One more 

bound, 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



441 



The ship is reached, and not a moment lost. 
The boat is filled. Again she braves the 

sea, 
This time with precious freight, the while 

the waves, 
Thus cheated of their prey, mourn in 

revenge. 
The moon between the clouds in pity smiles, 
The waves are broken into tears above 
The boat of life ; resisting wind and wave, 
They near the land, an unseen Hand directs, 
And one eye, never sleeping, watches all. 

Upon the shore the fishers' wives knelt 

down 
And clasped their loved ones, given from 

the grave. 
Young children sobbed their gratitude, and 

clung 
To fathers they had never hoped to kiss ; 
Strong men were not afraid of tears, which 

fell 
Like April rain, as with their wives and 

babes 
They knelt upon the bleak seashore, to 

pray. 
Up to the skies a glad thanksgiving rose ; 
The wind ceased wailing, and the stars 

came out ; 
Joy filled all hearts, and noble Grace was 

blessed. 
The earth grew brighter, for the angels sang, 
In heaven, to God a glad, sweet song of 

praise. 

Myra A. Goodwin. 



KEEPING HOUSE FOR TWO. 

IT'S sweeping and dusting and cooking, 
It's making the wee house bright, 
For the man, all day who is earning his 
pay, 
And is hastening home at night. 
He, for the toil and the wages, 

She for the saving up ; 
And both in all weather to stand together, 
And share the loaf and the cup. 

It's singing above the pudding, 

It's flitting to and fro, 
With a heart so light from morning till 
night 

That the cheeks with roses glow. 



It's watching the clock in the gloaming, 

It's running to open the door, 
With a smile and a kiss, and the touch of a 
bliss 

That can ask for nothing more. 

Perhaps the means are narrow 

In the keeping house for two ; 
But the little wife in her valiant strife 

Will somehow make them do. 
And God will help her onward, 

And smooth her good man's way, 
And, trudging together, in every weather, 

They'll laugh at the rainy day. 

As he works with hammer and pick-axe, 

Or bends o'er ledger and bills, 
As he faithfully toils for the golden spoils 

That enrich another's tills, 
He does not fret or worry, 

He is proud as a millionaire ; — 
With a cheery wife and a happy life, 

The man has enough and to spare. 

'Tis stepping from parlor to kitchen, 

And lilting a bit of song ; 
For she feels in her breast, that the tiny nest 

Will not be lonesome long. 
Flood-tide of life's fullest pleasure, 

Joy-bells a peal to ring, 
When a little bed, holds a flaxen head, 

And the small home holds a king ! 

And then the merry problem 

Will be keeping house for three ; 
And angels will wait at the lowly gate, 

To give them company. 
When it's one for the work and the wages, 

And one for the saving up, 
And the home to stand with the best in the 
land, 
And God for the loaf and cup ! 

Margaret E- Sangstbr. 

In Everywhere. — 



THE DIFFICULTY OF RHYMING 

The humor of this selection must appear in the perplexed ana 
difficult manner of the speaker in finding the rhyming word for 
the end of the fourth line. 

WE parted by the gate in June, 
That soft and balmy month, 
Beneath the sweetly beaming moon, 
And (wonth — hunth — sunth — bunth — I 
can't find a rhyme to month). 



442 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



Years were to pass ere we should meet ; 

A wide and yawning gulf 
Divides me from my love so sweet, 

While (ulf— sulf— dulf — mulf— stuck 
again ; I can't get any rhyme to gulf. I'm 
in a gulf myself). 

Oh, how I dreaded in my soul 
To part from my sweet nymph, 

While years should their long seasons 
roll 
Before (hymph — dymph — symph — I guess 

I'll have to let it go at that). 

Beneath my fortune's stern decree 

My lonely spirits sunk, 
For I a weary soul should be 

And a (hunk — dunk — runk — sk — That 
will never do in the world) . 

She buried her dear lovely face 

Within her azure scarf, 
She knew I'd take the wretchedness 

As well as (parf — sarf — darf — harf-and- 
harf — That won't answer either). 

Oh, I had loved her many years, 

I loved her for herself ; 
I loved her for her tender tears, 

And also for her (welf — nelf — helf — pell — 
no, no ; not for her pelf). 

I took between my hands her head, 

How sweet her lips did pouch ! 
I kissed her lovingly and said — 
(bouch — mouch — louch — ouch ; not a bit 
of it did I say ouch). 

I sorrowfully wrung her hand, 

My tears they did escape, 
My sorrow I could not command, 

And I was but a (sape — dape — fape — ape ; 
well, perhaps, I did feel like an ape). 

I gave to her a fond adieu, 

Sweet pupil of love's school ; 
I told her I would e'er be true, 

And always be a (dool — sool — mool — 
fool ; since I come to think of it, I was a 
fool, for she fell in love with another fellow, 
before I was gone a month). 



A TWILIGHT STORY. 

U A untie, will you tell a story?" said 
a\. my little niece of three, 

As the early winter twilight fell 
around us silently. 
So I answered to her pleading : ' ' Once, 

when I was very small, 
With my papa and my mamma I went out 

to make a call ; 
And a lady, pleased to see us, gave me quite 

a large bouquet, 
Which I carried homeward proudly, smiling 

all along the way. 

"Soon I met two other children, clad in 

rags and sad of face, 
Who grew strangely, wildly joyous as I 

neared their standing-place. 
'Twas so good to see the flowers ! ' Give 

us one — oh, one ! ' they cried. 
But I passed them without speaking, left 

them with their wish denied. 
Yet the mem'ry of their asking haunted 

me by night and day, 
' Give us one ! ' I heard them saying, even 

in my mirthful play. 

"Still I mourn, because in childhood I 

refused to give a flower : 
Did not make those others happy when I 

had it in my power. ' ' 
Suddenly I ceased my story. Tears were in 

my niece's eyes — 
Tears of tenderness and pity — while she 

planned a sweet surprise ; 
" I will send a flower to-morrow to those 

little children dear." 
Could I tell her that their childhood had 

been gone this many a year ? 

Mary J. Portkr. 



KING WHEAT. 

Suitable to Thanksgiving Entertainment. 

You may tell of your armored cruisers 
And your great ships of the line ; 
And swift or slow may steamers go 
Across the billowy brine. 
Like thunder may the cannon boom 

To greet their flags unfurled, 
And for an hour they may have power 
To rule the frightened world. 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



443 



From ocean shore to ocean shore 

Lie lines of gleaming steel, 
And night and day we hear alway 

The ring of rushing wheel ; 
Though buffalo have left the plain, 

And Indian tents are furled, 
Nor steam nor hand at wealth's command 

Can rule the busy world. 

But where the hillside rises fair 

In terraces of green, 
And on the plain, where wind and rain 

Sweep fields of golden sheen, 
Where sturdy yellow stalks arise, 

With bannered heads unfurled, 
Here you may greet the Great King 
Wheat, 

The ruler of the world. 

Oh, hills may shake and vales resound 

Beneath the flying car, 
And driven by steam and winds a-beam 

Our ships ride fast and far ; 
Cities may crumble 'neath the guns 

Which guard our flag unfurled, 
Yet all shall greet — at last — King Wheat 

For hunger rules the world. 

Ninette M. Lo water. 



At length 'tis morn, and at the dawn of day 
The pealing anthem swells the note of 
praise ; 
Westward the star of empire takes its way 
And buries madmen in the heaps they 
raise. 

Honor and shame from no condition rise, 
Save where the beetle wheels his droning 
flight. 
' ' What were they made for, then, you dog ? ' ' 
he cries ; 
One truth is clear, Whatever is, is right. 

Lo, the poor Indian, whose untutored 
mind 
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 
On with the dance. Let joy be uncon- 
fined ; 
Let earth, unbalanced, from her orbit fly. 

A little learning is a dangerous thing ; 
Oh, give relief, and Heaven will bless your 

store, 
See the blind beggar dance, the cripple 

sing- 
Arm ! Arm ! It is the cannon's opening 

roar. 



MOSAICS 



A pleasing contest may be introduced in a literary society or 
circle of friends by reading the following verses and offering a 
prize to the person who names the titles of the greatest number 
of poems from which the lines are taken. The contestants 
should be supplied with paper and pencils and two minutes' time 
given after the reading of each stanza for the writing of the title. 

THE curfew tolls the knell of parting 
day — 
Great day from which all other days 
are made ; 
Now came still evening on, and twilight 
gray, 
In nature's simplest charms at first 
arrayed. 

Sweet was the sound when oft at evening's 
close 
The moping owl does to the moon com- 
plain ; 
With louder plaint the mother spoke her 
woes, 
Driven by the wind and battered by the 
rain. 



" Live while you live," the epicure would 

say, 

And catch the manners living as they rise. 

Approach and read (for thou canst read) 

the lay, 

If ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise. 

You see mankind the same in every age, 
And as they first are fashioned always 
grow; 
He struts and frets his hour upon the 
stage — 
Virtue alone is happiness below. 

" Turn gentle hermit of the dale, 
And guide my lonely way ; ' ' 

If I am wrong, oh, teach my heart 
To find the better way ! 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 

An' never bro't to min' ! 
Oh, no, my friends, for is it not 

Poured out by hands divine ? 



444 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



This world is all a fleeting show 
From many an ancient river ; 

For men may come, and men may go. 
But I go on forever. 

On Linden when the sun was low, 
With eyelids heavy and red, 

Man wants but little here below, 
As hath been sung or said. 

" Forbear, my son," the hermit cries. 

To be, or not to be ; 
In this the art of living lies, 

Come to the sunset tree. 

Mary had a little lamb, 

With fingers weary and worn, 

And everywhere that Mary went 
Shows man was made to mourn. 

John Gilpin was a citizen 
In poverty, hunger and dirt, 

And so the teacher turned him out, 
And sang the song of the shirt. 

A nightingale that all day long 
Made fields and forests bare, 

As if he said, "I'm not afraid," 
And hoary was his hair. 

And what is friendship but a name ? 

The eager children cry — 
A charm that follows wealth or fame 

Comin' through the rye. 

And love is still an emptier sound, 
Where the scattered waters rave. 

A chieftain to the highlands bound 
Cries, " A life on the ocean wave." 

Oh, swiftly glides the bonnie boat, 
With fainting steps and slow ; 

He used to wear an old brown coat, 
Its fleece was white as snow. 

'Tis the voice of the sluggard ; I heard him 
complain : 
Oh, when shall day dawn on the night of 
the grave ? 
Oh, give me my lowly thatched cottage 
again, 
O'er the land of the free and the home of 
the brave. 



Three fishers went sailing out into the west, 

At the close of the day when the hamlet 

is still ; 

Sweet Vale of Avoca, tuow calm could I rest 

In the old oaken bucket that hangs in the 

well. 

An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain, 
On the shore dimly seen through the mists 
of the deep. 
You have waked me too soon ; I must 
slumber again ; 
Rock me to sleep, mother; rock me to 
sleep. 

The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the 
fold, 
With lovely young Jamie, the pride of 
the Dee ; 
His footsteps are feeble — once fearless and 
bold— 
And away he went singing his chick-a- 
dee-dee. 

Will you come to the bower I've shaded for 
you ? 
I would not stay out in the cold and the 
snow, 
Perfumed with fresh flagrance and glittering 
with dew, 
Roderick Vic Alpine Dhu ! ho iero ! 

JOTHAM WlNROW. 



OLD GLORY. 

{A Chant Royal.) 

" I have seen the glories of art and architecture and moun- 
tain and river. I have seen the sunset on Jungfrau, and the full 
moou rise oyer Mont Blanc ; but the fairest vision on which 
these eyes ever looked was the flag of my country in a foreign 
land. Beautiful as a flower to those who love it, terrible as a meteor 
to those who hate, it is the symbol of the power and glory and 
the honor of fifty millions of Americans." — George F. Hoar. 

Enchanted web ! A picture in the air, 
Drifted to us from out the distance blue 
From shadowy ancestors, through whose 
brave care 
We live in magic of a dream come true ; 
\Vith Covenanters' blue, as if were glassed 
In dewy flower-heart the stars that passed. 
O blood-veined blossom that can never 
blight ! 

The Declaration, like a sacred rite, 

Is in each star and stripe declamatory, 
The Constitution thou shalt long recite — 
Our hallowed, eloquent, beloved "Old 
Glory!"* 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



445 



O symphony in red, white, blue ! fanfare 
Of trumpet, roll of drum, forever new, 
Reverberations of the bell that bear 

Its tones of Ljbebty the wide world 
through ! 
In battle dreaded like a cyclone blast ! 
Symbol of land and people unsurpassed, 
Thy brilliant day shall never have a 

night. 
On foreign shore, no pomp so grand a 
sight, ^ 
No face so friendly, naught consolatory. 
Iyike glimpse of lofty spar with thee 
bedight, — 
Our hallowed, eloquent, beloved " Old 
Glory!" 

Thou art the one Flag ; an embodied 

prayer. 

One, highest and most perfect to review ; 

Without one, nothing ; it is a lineal, square, 

Has properties of all the numbers, too, 

Cube, solid, square root, root of root ; best 

classed 
It for his essence the Creator cast. 

For purity are thy stripes of six white : 

This number circular and endless quite; — 

Six times, well knows the scholar wan and 

hoary, 

His compass spanning circle can alight, — 

Our hallowed, eloquent, beloved " Old 

Glory! " 

Boldly thy seven lines of scarlet flare, 
As when o'er old centurion it blew ; 
(Red is the trumpet's tone : it means to 
dare.) 
God favored seven when creation grew : 
The seven planets ; seven hues contrast ; 
The seven metals ; seven days ; not last 
The seven tones of marvellous delight 
That lend the listening soul their wings 
for flight ; 
But why complete the happy category 
That gives thy thirteen stripes their charm 

and might, — 
Our hallowed, eloquent, beloved " Old 
Glory! " 

In thy dear colors, honored everywhere, 
The great and mystic ternion we view ; 

Faith, Hope and Charity are numbered 
there, 
And the three nails the Crucifixion knew. 



Three are offended when one has tres- 
passed, — 
God, and one's neighbor, and one's self 
aghast ; 
Christ's deity and soul and manhood's 

height ; 
The Father, Son and Ghost may here 
unite. 
With texts like these, divinely monitory, 
What wonder that thou conquerest in 
fight — 
Our hallowed, eloquent, beloved " Old 
Glory!" 

ENVOY. 

O blessed Flag ! sign of our precious past, 
Triumphant present, and our future vast, 
Beyond starred blue and bars of sunset 

bright 
I^ead us to higher realm of equal right ! 
Float on, in ever lovely allegory, 
Kin to the eagle and the wind and light — 
Our hallowed, eloquent, beloved " Old 
Glory! " 

Emma Frances Dawson. 

* " Old Glory," as our flag was baptized by our soldiers 
during the Rebellion. — Preble. 



ICHABOD. 



The following poem was written on hearing of Daniel Web- 
ster's course in supporting the " Compromise Measure," includ- 
ing the " Fugitive Slave Law." This speech was delivered in the 
United States Senate on the 7th of March, 1850, and greatly 
incensed the Abolitionists. Mr. Whittier,"in common with many 
New Englanders, regarded it as the certain downfall of Mr. 
Webster. The lines are full of tender regret, deep grief and 
touching pathos. 



s 



o fallen ! so lost ! the light withdrawn 
Which once he wore ! 
The glory from his gray hairs gone 
For evermore ! 



Revile him not — the Tempter hath 

A snare for all : 
And pitying tears, not scorn and wrath 

Befit his fall ! 

Oh ! dumb be passion's stormy rage, 

When he who might 
Have lighted up and led his age 

Falls back in night. 

Scorn ! would the angels laugh to mark 

A bright soul driven, 
Fiend -goaded, down the endless dark, 

From hope and heaven ? 



446 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



Let not the land, once proud of him, 

Insult him now ; 
Nor brand with deeper shame his dim 

Dishonored brow. 

But let its humbled sons, instead, 

From sea to lake, 
A long lament, as for the dead, 

In sadness make. 

Of all we loved and honored, nought 

Save power remains, — 
A fallen angel's pride of thought 

Still strong in chains. 

All else is gone ; from those great eyes 

The soul has fled : 
When faith is lost, when honor dies, 

The man is dead ! 

Then, pay the reverence of old days 

To his dead fame ; 
Walk backward, with averted gaze, 

And hide the shame ! 

John Greenleaf Whittier. 



CASABIANCA. 

Young Casabianca, a boy about thirteen years old, son of the 
Admiral of the Orient, remained at his post (in the Battle of the 
Nile) after the ship had taken fire and all the guns had been 
abandoned, and perished in the explosion of the vessel, when the 
flames had reached the powder. 

The boy stood on the burning deck 
Whence all but him had fled ; 
The flames that lit the battle's wreck 
Shone round him o'er the dead. 

Yet beautiful and bright he stood, 

As born to rule the storm ; 
A creature of heroic blood, 

A proud though childlike form. 

The flames rolled on ; he would not go 

Without his father's word ; 
That father, faint in death below, 

His voice no longer heard. 

He called aloud, " Say, father, say, 

If yet my task be done ? ' ' 
He knew not that the chieftain lay 

Unconscious of his son. 

" Speak, father ! " once again he cried, 

" If I may yet be gone ! ' ' 
And but the booming shots replied, 

And fast the flames rolled on. 



Upon his brow he felt their breath, 

And in his waving hair, 
And looked from that lone post of death 

In still but brave despair ; 

And shouted but once more aloud, 

' ' My father ! must I stay ! ' ' 
While o'er him fast, through sail and 
shroud, 

The wreathing fires made way. 

They wrapt the ship in splendor wild, 
They caught the flag on high, 

And streamed above the gallant child, 
Like banners in the sky 

There came a burst of thunder sound ; 

The boy — Oh ! where was he ? 
Ask of the winds, that far around 

With fragments strewed the sea— 

With shroud and mast and pennon fair, 
That well had borne their part — 

But the noblest thing that perished there, 
Was that young faithful heart. 

Felicia Hemans. 



A PARODY ON CASABIANCA. 

THE boy stood on the back-yard fence, 
whence all but him had fled 

The flames that lit his father's barn, 

shone just above the shed. 
One bunch of crackers in his hand, two 

others in his hat, 
With piteous accents loud he cried, "I 

never thought of that ; ' ' 
A bunch of crackers to the tail of one small 

dog he'd tied ; 
The dog in anguish sought the barn, and 

'mid its ruins died. 
The sparks flew wide, and red and hot, 

they lit upon that brat ; 
They fired the crackers in his hand, and 

e'en those in his hat. 

Then came a burst of rattling sound — the 

boy ! Where was he gone ? 
Ask of the winds that far around strewed 

bits of meat and bone : 
And scraps of clothes, and balls, and tops, 

and nails, and hooks, and yarn — 
The relics of that dreadful boy that burnt 

his father's barn. J. T. Gamble. 



Part XVI 

PROGRAMMES 



npO make a programme for an entertainment is always a difficult task. 
First, what to have, and, second, where to find it, are perplexing 
questions which present themselves. To help solve this difficulty and 
answer these troublesome questions is the object of this department. 

Let it be understood that variety in selections, as far as. the occasion 
will admit, always contributes to the pleasure of the audience. Yet there 
is a " fintess of things" which should never be lost sight of. 

The few succeeding programmes are intended to be used as samples. 
They may be adapted and used as they appear, or they may be altered to 
conform to local requirements. The compiler of this volume, with a view 
to aiding the user of the book as far as possible, has indicated by "notes" 
at the beginning of a large number of selections, their special adaptation 
to some particular entertainment or occasion. The illustrations also 
furnish many suggestions for tableaux, costumes and easy graceful attitudes 
in acting. 



447 



4th OF JULY PROGRAMME 



Music By band or on instrument 

(Any lively march.) 

Introductory Remarks By Master of Ceremony 

(3 to 5 minutes.) 

Declamation — "Resistance to British Aggression'' or 

"The War Inevitable" Pages 73 and. 74 

(A good speaker dressed in colonial garb impersonating Patrick Henry. ) 

Reading The Declaration of Independence 

(By some one with strong voice who can read it impressively.) 

Music 

(Any spirited martial air.) 

Recitation — "Legend of the Declaration" Page 128 

Tableau — "The Heroes of 1776" 

(About 12 boys or men dressed as revolutionary soldiers. They stand a few moments before the audience, 

when the band begins to play they march away to the music. Where it is impracticable to 

get so many costumes ready, two, or even one may appear, impersonating 

Washington and Lafayette, or Washington only.) 

Song — "My Cowitry lis of Thee " Page 399 

(By school or audience.) 

Oration 

(An original address from 5 to 10 minutes long on the " Memories of the 4th of July " or 
some other appropriate theme.) 

Music By the Band 

(Some potpourri of patriotic airs.) 

Tableau — "Faith in the Red, White and Blue" 

See picture for costume and attitude on page 286 

(By a child looking up at flag.) 

Vocal Solo — "The Star Spangled Banner" Page 389 

(By a lady with strong soprano voice.) 

Declamation — "The American Flag" Page 131 

Song to Close — "Columbia, My Country" Page 385 

(By audience or as a solo.) 

44-S 



WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY ENTERTAINMENT 



Music, by the band " Hail to the Chief " 

Recitation, by a girl — "The Love of Country' 1 

or "Washington s Birthday" . Pages 65 and 127 

Declamation, by a boy — "Patriotism is Unselfish" or 

u Washington to his Soldiers" Pages 66 and 94 

Song of Revolutionary Times — "Yankee Doodle" .... Page 369 

(Solos sung by boy and girl, alternating stanzas. The chorus sung by ten or twelve boys and girls 
arranged behind them. The effect will be better if the singers are dressed in Colonial 

costumes.) 

Original Address — Washington the Model Patriot 

(Prepared and delivered by some local speaker. It should not last longer than eight or ten minutes 

at most.) 

Music, by the band Any Patriotic Air 

Declamation — " Valley Forge" - . Page 121 

(Delivered by some one who can speak with dignity.) 

Song — "My Country ' Tis of Thee" Page 399 

(By school or audience.) 

Tableau — " Washington s Last Visit to His Mother " 

(Let some stately, clean shaven man dress in the costume of that day impersonate Washington, and a plain 

dignified old woman of noble bearing impersonate his mother. The scene is on the old home in Virginia. 

Washington has just been elected President of the United States in 1789, but before taking upon 

himself the duties of the office he goes to Virginia to receive his mother's blessing. The Tableau 

shows him kneeling and his mother with her hands upon his head utters these words : 

" Go, George, and fulfil the high destinies which Heaven appears to have intended 

for you ; go, my son, and may Heaven's benedictions abide with your mother's 

blessings upon you always." The curtain falls. A moment later let it rise 

and show the chief pausing in the doorway looking back at his mother 

who sits with her knitting in an easy chair, her face lifted kindly 

toward him.) 

Song — " Columbia My Country" Page 385 

(Sung by the chorus and played by the band.) 

449 



SCHOOL ENTERTAINMENT 



A Programme adapted to the close of school where a variety of enter- 
tainment is desired. 

i. Song — " America" Page 399 

[By the school.] 

2. Address of Welcome, with remarks on the progress made in the school. 

[By the Principal or Teacher.] 

3. Declamation — " The Greater Republic "or 

" The Battle of Manila Bay" . . Pages 114 and 110 

[For a boy or girl of 15 or older.] 

4. An Essay 

[Prepared for the occasion and read by one of the pupils. — A selection, page 425, as a reading may be 

substituted.] 

5. Song — " The Old Oaken Bucket" Page 392 

[ By the school.] 

6. Declamation — " Baby in Church" . Page 194 

[For little girl.] 

7. " Doll Rosy 's Bath" Page 290 

[For little girl.] 

8. An Essay 

[Prepared for the occasion and read by one of the pupils. A reading may be selected instead.] 

9. Song; by the school 

[To be selected from Musical Department of this book — or from other songs already prepared.] 

10. Dialogue — "Tailed" Page 327 

[For boy and girl.] 

11. Recitation — '■ Pegging Away" Page 270 

[For boy or girl.] 

12. Familiar Quotations 

[To be selected from pages 406-414 and recited by one or more classes of school as called upon.] 

13. Song, by the school 

[To be selected from Musical Department of this book— or from other songs already known.] 

14. Closing Address Page 299 

[For boy or girl.] 
Noti; :— This is only a sample programme. The teacher should adapt it to his or her peculiar needs, a.nd endeavor to bring 
in all the pupils in sonae way. Quotations are often introduced for this purpose. 

450 



CHRISTMAS ENTERTAINMENT 



Programme suitable for Parlor, Church or Sunday School where 
children take part. 

i. Song — "A Christmas Song" Page 382 

2. Selection — From Scripture Luke 2 : 8-20 

[The Shepherds and the Angels.] 

3. Recitation — a Nobody s Child" Page 190 

4. Recitation — " The Bells" Page 158 

5. Song — Solo 

[To be contributed for the occasion.] 

6. Recitation — " Building and Being" . Page 251 

[May be read or recited.] 

7. Dialogue — " A Home Scene in the Chaplains Family" . . Page 333 

[A dialogue for four girls.] 

8. Song, by the Children 

[Selected from some familiar hymn.] 

9. Reading — " How Prayer Was Answered" ...... Page 253 

10. Recitation — "A Twilight Story" Page 442 

11. Recitation — "Katies Wants" . Page 289 

[For a little girl of 6.] 

12. Recitation — " Christmas Has Come" Page 292 

[For a little girl of 6 or 7.] 

13. Quotations 

[Let each one of a class or a select few read quotations suitable to the occasion. To be selected from 

Scripture or this book. ] 

14. Closing Hymn 



451 



PARLOR ENTERTAINMENT 



Where only a few are expected to participate. 
i. Instrumental Music 

2. Reading — " In Mar gefs Garden" 

3. A Dialogue — " The Interviewer" Page 236 

4. Reading or Recitation — " Leedle Yawcob Strauss "... Page 208 

5. Instrumental or Vocal Music 

6. Reading — " In the Bottom Drawer" Page 179 

7. A Farce — "Courtship Under Difficulties" Page 350 

[For two gentlemen and one lady.] 

8. Reading — "Two Gentlemen of Kentucky" Page 418 

9. A Recitation — " From the Sublime to Ridiculous" . . . Page 321 



452 



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